


if it's love, hold on tight

by daisysusan



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Rimming, fear of commitment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-11
Updated: 2012-11-11
Packaged: 2017-11-18 09:49:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisysusan/pseuds/daisysusan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Relationships are complicated, especially if the other person is carefully avoiding talking about it in any serious way; or, the one where Louis is afraid of commitment and makes a right mess of things because of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if it's love, hold on tight

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [torakowalski](archiveofourown.org/users/torakowalski/) for reading this over, and to everyone who let me email this to them in various stages of completion while I cried about my life.
> 
> The title is from Kris Allen's song _Out Alive_ , in part because I had the whole album on repeat while I wrote this—if you're looking for something to listen to, it makes a pretty perfect soundtrack. Also it's an awesome album. Okay I'll stop now.
> 
> For the cottoncandy_bingo prompt _learning to love_.

(this isn't how it starts)

It's the last night of this leg of the tour, and when Harry fishes Liam's plaid shirt out of the messy pile, he tosses it at Louis.

"You should wear your boyfriend's shirt, it'll be disgustingly cute." Liam's heart twists a little, and his stomach flips over—they've never talked about it, not like that, but they've been sleeping together a while now, and he doesn't think either of them is sleeping with anyone else. _He_ certainly isn't.

Liam's so thrown by Harry calling them boyfriends he nearly misses the way Louis's eyes narrow and he looks—well, he looks upset. He puts on the shirt, though, buttoning it all the way to the collar just like Liam does, and Liam tries not to pay much attention to it. He’s not possessive, not the way some people get, but the sight of Louis in his shirt, especially right on the heels of Harry saying they’re a couple, is a lot to process. 

He pulls on Harry’s shirt distractedly, his mind stuck on how loose his shirt is around Louis’s shoulders and the strange twisted expression that had crossed his face at Harry’s words. Liam’d like to be wearing Louis’s shirt, honestly, but he saw the expression and he’s not going to push his luck.

Nonetheless, Louis is tetchy after the show, distant and snappish and surly. He doesn’t pile into the dressing room with the rest of them, doesn’t throw himself into Liam’s lap or poke at Harry’s cheeks until he’s smiling too much to cry any more. Surreptitiously, Liam wipes his eyes, because it’s the last night of the tour and it’s been the craziest emotional trip yet, and Louis isn’t in here to hug him stupid. 

Zayn catches him and curls an arm around his neck, pulling until Liam’s face is tucked into his shoulder. He smells of aftershave and sweat and Niall, from the worn-out and too-small shirt he’s wearing. When he presses his face against the top of Liam’s head, Liam can just barely feel that he’s crying as well. 

There’s no one nagging them to get moving, and Liam suspects that Paul is deliberately keeping people away from the dressing room. He curls an arm around Zayn’s back and tries not to think about what’s really happened to make Louis so cross, lets himself believe it’s just emotions from the end of the tour. 

It’s not, and he’s known that all along. Every other show has ended with Louis pulling them in close, group hugs and sloppy cheek kisses until they’re all giggling. Louis is good at that; it was probably the first thing about him that Liam fell in love with, how he can always make them laugh no matter the circumstances. And—

“Fuck,” Liam whispers into Zayn’s skin, and Zayn jumps. 

He’s clearly trying to keep the shock off his face at how unlike Liam it is to swear—and failing miserably, but trying. 

Before Liam thinks it through, properly understands what a terrible idea it is to say this out loud when he’s only just fully realised it, he mumbles again into Zayn’s neck. 

“I’m in love with Louis.”

For what feels like an eternity, there’s dead silence, and then Liam hears a voice that sounds exactly like Louis’s say “Shit.” Except—Louis isn’t in the room, he didn’t come in with them and Liam didn’t hear the door open. 

But he knows Louis’s voice, knows it when he’s happy and heartbroken and when he’s just woken up and when he’s sung too much, and that was it, shocked and confused and—and something else, something Liam’s only heard in bits and pieces before now. 

There’s the slam of a door closing in a hurry, and he peels his face out of Zayn’s shoulder. They’re all staring at him, Harry and Niall frowning and probably Zayn too, though Liam can’t see his face, can only feel his fingers carding through the hair at the base of his head. 

“Sorry, Li,” Harry says, and Liam tries not to think about how pear-shaped things must be for him to be getting sincere sympathy from Harry. 

(luckily, this isn't how it ends, either)

 

\--

 

(nor is this how it starts)

Liam is taller than Louis, and heavier, but he's significantly less violent, and also taken completely by surprise when Louis shoves him bodily against the wall. His hands are on either side of Liam's face—he must be on tiptoe, Liam thinks, his head spinning a little—and his torso is pressed flush against Liam's.

"Did you just give that mic a fucking blowjob?" he asks, hoarse and low like he'd just given a blowjob himself.

Liam giggles, part nervous, part exhausted, part adrenaline rush. “Yeah,” he says, biting his lip. “Did you like it? Zayn looked so proud.”

Louis doesn’t answer, just kisses him messily, grinding their hips together. Liam gasps against his mouth; his heart’s still pounding from the rush of doing something that’s going to get him yelled at tomorrow, and Louis’s hand moving around the back of his neck to pull him down closer isn’t helping at all. 

By the time Louis loosens his grip and lets Liam pull away, everything beyond the two of them’s gone fuzzy, whether from blood loss in his brain or oxygen deprivation, he’s not sure. Louis’s lips are red, now, and his eyes are fixed on Liam’s mouth. Liam wants to kiss him again, bite at his swollen lips and suck against the pulse point on his neck until there’s a mark, and lick his way down Louis’s chest. 

He doesn’t have time for any of that, though, because Louis beats him to the last idea, rucking Liam’s shirt up a bit as he sinks down, trailing his lips across the skin he exposes. Liam inhales sharply at the not-quite-familiar feel of Louis’s teeth against his abdomen. It makes his muscles tense, turns his breathing shaky, makes his head spin. 

“Can I?” Louis asks, and Liam’s head hits the wall when he lets it drop back.

“God, always,” he says, and that might be overkill for a hurried blowjob, , might be overkill for whatever this arrangement between them is, so he follows it with something more lighthearted, hoping his voice doesn’t crack in the middle. “So is this how it works, anything I pretend to do in an interview you’ll actually do to me afterward?”

Louis doesn’t answer, just undoes Liam’s jeans and pushes them down, dragging his pants with them. 

He didn’t think he could get hard this fast, not with how exhausted he is, but apparently the sight of Louis between his legs can work miracles. It takes only a few strokes of Louis’s hand against him before he’s whining and pressing forward, wanting more than just a loose hand and Louis’s faint breath against his dick. 

And then he gets it, because Louis is always so good at knowing what he wants and giving it to him, making him smile, making him come, making him want to curl up in the bed and never leave. He’s barely mouthing at the tip of Liam’s cock, stroking the underside lightly with his thumb, and it’s maddening. 

Liam loves it, though, the way Louis can drive him mad, can make him want to thrust into his mouth until they’re both gagging for it, coming from it. And Louis likes it too, hums happily as he swirls his tongue around Liam and pulls off a bit to lick at the slit. Liam’s always thought there was a lot to be said for having enough sex with someone that they know you, know what makes you crazy, and Louis is proving that very well. 

He’s going torturously slowly and Liam wants to scream; he can’t, not here where someone could walk in. Louis ought to be going faster, hurrying so they don’t get caught, but he’s just sucking at the tip of Liam’s dick and looking up with something inimitably smug in his eyes every time Liam whimpers, threading his fingers into Louis’s hair. 

“Christ, Louis,” Liam whispers, hoping it’ll spur a reaction from Louis—he likes it when Liam talks, when Liam says his name, when Liam _begs_. “Please,” Liam says, letting every ounce of desperation he’s feeling creep into his voice. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

Louis pulls off entirely—Liam groans, louder than he intended—and looks him up and down. “Someone could walk in any minute,” he says. 

Liam’s not sure what words his groan was going to be, which is okay because it comes out completely inarticulate anyway. He manages to tack a hoarse, “So hurry then,” onto the end, but that’s all the coherence he has left. 

It works, though, because Louis sucks him down properly, swallowing around him and catching Liam’s eye though his fringe. The eye contact is nearly enough to finish him off, Louis’s eyes heavy and dark and so, so desperate. He’s got one hand down his own trousers, Liam can see his arm moving, and the other is wrapped around the base of Liam’s dick, a stopping place so Louis can move up and down quickly. The hand he’s got down his trousers is moving in time with his head, and Liam can’t keep watching this, he just cannot, because Louis is getting off on sucking his dick and—it’s just. 

He’s seen this before, how Louis likes this, how his face goes slack and tense all at once, but it hasn’t stopped being the hottest thing Liam’s ever seen. Louis’s cheeks are hollowed and he’s moaning as he moves, and Liam can hear his own answering noises, breathy and unsteady. 

Since he’s focused on the stretch of Louis’s mouth around his dick, on his fingers in Louis’s hair, on Louis’s hand on his own dick, Liam’s orgasm sneaks up on him and he’s choking out Louis’s name and thrusting into his mouth before he realises it’s happening at all. Louis works him through it, until Liam’s whimpering from the overstimulation, and then he’s on his feet, kissing Liam like his life depends on it.

Liam’s life _might_ depend on it, honestly; getting to kiss Louis is one of his favorite parts of any day. He drags his attention away from Louis’s teeth against his lip, from the way Louis is running his thumb almost roughly down the side of Liam’s neck, in order to fumble at Louis’s jeans and get his hand inside Louis’s pants. Louis keens, really honestly keens, and seals his mouth back against Liam’s, hard, before he comes from just a few strokes of Liam’s hand. 

If he hadn’t just come, the fact that Louis got so worked up over sucking him off would have Liam hard in minutes, maybe less. 

“Do we have any more interviews tonight?” Liam asks when he manages to drag his mouth off Louis’s. Louis shakes his head, burying it against Liam’s shoulder, clearly more interested in snuggling than answering. 

“C’mon, Lou, we can’t go to sleep here,” Liam says, dragging Louis away from their defiled corner. They can sleep at the hotel, away from reporters and television cameras and screaming fans.

 

\--

 

(it starts like this:)

The first time Louis smiles at him, properly smiles huge and wide so it lights his eyes up, Liam thinks he’s learned what it feels like to have a heart attack. 

See, Louis is the one who doesn’t make sense. Harry is all snuggling and a world Liam’s never really been part of, and Niall is like his mates from back home only with more hugs and less teasing, and Zayn sits with him in the corner quietly when everyone else gets to be too much. But Louis is like Harry, cuddling and touching and hugging everyone, but also unexpectedly serious. 

And he’s different with Liam, not touching him the same way he touches the others, which—well, it probably means Louis doesn’t like him, or doesn’t know what to make of him. Liam knows he’s serious and probably a lot less fun than Harry and Zayn and Niall, and Louis is the wildest of the lot of them so he probably just doesn’t see much use in spending a lot of time with Liam. 

So yeah, the first time Louis smiles at him like that, it’s a bit like being punched in the stomach. It’s all Liam can do to smile back, though he doesn’t think he’d have been able to keep from smiling either. 

Louis starts changing the way he touches Liam, though, and once Lia notices for the first time, he can’t stop. Hands on his shoulders and touches to his legs and always tweaking his nipples; it’s not like with the others but it’s still touching, always touching, and Liam’s probably gone more than a bit mad from it. 

The first time Louis sits in his lap, no ceremony, just throws himself down on top of Liam, he thinks he might die. He hates himself a little for it, because he knows how easily, how naturally, the others have taken to the constant touching and cuddling and inappropriate contact, but it always feels charged with Louis. When Louis touches him, even if it’s just a hand on his back or an arm around his neck in a group hug—a group hug _on stage_ —it sends shivers up Liam’s spine and make his stomach twist. 

It doesn’t help that Louis has decided they ought to be best mates now—at least he doesn’t hate him, that’s something—and is constantly throwing himself at Liam, arms everywhere, giving him lovebites and asking to snuggle and sitting on his lap. 

One morning, Louis flops down next to him, pokes him in the stomach until he looks up from his GameBoy, and says, with a huge smile, “Want to go to the cinema?” Liam’s hand slips on the controls and he dies, which at least means he can focus on Louis, and how Louis is draping himself around Liam’s shoulders. And not focus on how it makes him want to curl into the touch, that’s important as well.

Liam’s so busy focusing on all the places Louis touching him that he doesn’t actually answer the question until Louis noses at his neck and nips quickly at the skin by his shoulder. “Liam,” he says, “do you want to go to the cinema with me?”

This time, Liam manages to nod—and ignore how that moves him even closer to Louis—and ask what film Louis wants to go and see. 

“I don’t know,” Louis says with a shrug. “Anything that’s on? I’m just bored.”

They end up sitting too close in a packed cinema to see a terrible film Liam can’t remember much about, except a lot of explosions. He does remember Louis’s head on his shoulder, and Louis’s lips against his ear when he needs to comment on the plot, and Louis’s fingers brushing his when they both reach for popcorn at the same time. 

Despite all the things that make Liam’s stomach flutter, it doesn’t feel like a date, it feels like seeing a film with his mate. 

 

\--

 

The second time, though, the second time feels like a date, maybe. Or maybe he’s thinking about it too hard, because Louis is like this with everyone. Liam might have just finally got comfortable enough that Louis thinks he can treat him the way he does Harry and Zayn and Niall. That might be all. 

They go to lunch before the film, to a slightly dodgy place in a part of London Liam doesn’t know that Louis swears has the best curries he’s ever had. The curry is amazing, and they split the bill, but the table is so small Liam’s knees bump against Louis’s underneath it and it’s dimly lit inside, even with the sun shining outside. 

Whenever Liam squirms even the slightest bit, his knee finds Louis’s, and it feels more intimate every time. They’re both in shorts, Liam theorises, so perhaps it’s the skin-on-skin contact, but then he remembers tackle-hugs from a boxer-clad Harry and the hundreds of times Zayn’s fallen asleep on him shirtless (or trouserless, or that memorable time he was wearing only a towel), and none of those made his skin feel too small for his body. That only ever happens when it’s Louis. 

The same Louis who catches his eye and grins manically when one of the waitresses points at them a little indiscreetly and whispers to the woman next to her, that is. They have security with them, but it’s a tiny restaurant and almost empty at that, so they’re not on a particularly tight leash. The woman never approaches them, but after they’ve paid, Louis introduces himself to her and gives her a quick kiss on the cheek. 

After lunch they head to the cinema and it’s only when they’re queuing to get their tickets that Liam realises he has no idea what film he’s agreed to waste a day off seeing. Louis’s taste is occasionally suspect, and Liam can’t say he’s actually surprised when they end up squeezed into one of the middle rows of a showing of Katy Perry’s life story. 

“Hey,” Louis hisses into his ear, only seconds into the first trailer. Liam ignores him, because cinemas are for being quiet and the best way to train Louis is to keep from encouraging him. (This is a lie, and Liam knows it; there’s no way to train Louis.) “Hey, Liam,” Louis says again. 

Liam frowns at him, and Louis does some sort of contortion with his face that leaves Liam trying to stifle giggles while maintaining his disapproving expression. 

It works as well as it ever has, which is to say not at all. 

“Do you want to go see that one?” Louis asks, because Liam cracked and now Louis knows he’s got his attention. 

Liam shrugs noncommittally, in part to keep quiet and in part because the film looked pretty forgettable; the trailer just ended and he can’t really remember what it was about. There is a possibility that’s because he was paying more attention to Louis’s smile, but that’s not Liam’s fault. Louis is just very distracting; it’s one of his character flaws. 

The whispering only increases, though. During the next trailer, Liam gets a running commentary of everything Louis would change to make the film better, and he can barely keep from laughing. Once it’s over, Louis says, “So, you want to see that one?” Liam completely fails at keeping his distress off his face, and Louis sniggers at him for it. 

“I’d only go see that movie with someone I could snog in the back row,” Louis says. Liam tries desperately to keep from thinking about snogging Louis in the back row of the cinema. 

It doesn’t work. 

Louis is completely oblivious to Liam’s concerns, and keeps up the stream of commentary until Liam’s completely unable to keep from giggling and buries his face in Louis’s shoulder, his shoulders shaking with contained laughter. 

When he’s composed himself enough to speak, he hisses into Louis’s ear, “Will you shut up?”

“No.” Louis grins and then—of course, why didn’t Liam see this coming—he bites down on the side of Liam’s neck. It’s too crowded in the cinema for Liam to push him away, as Louis would end up crushing the poor person on his far side, and he has to resign himself to leaving the cinema with an extremely visible lovebite. 

“You’re not actually going to kiss me in the cinema, are you?” Liam asks, suddenly genuinely concerned and not just because he has no idea how to react to Louis kissing him. “There are a lot of people here and we’re right in the middle of the crowd. I don’t want to start a riot.”

Louis giggles. “Two-fifths of One Direction crushed in tragic cinema riot they caused by snogging,” he says, like he’s reading off a news story, and now Liam’s giggling as well. “Fine, I suppose I won’t,” Louis continues. “Wouldn’t want you dead, we’d be lost without anyone to sing the first verse of everything.”

“Harry would probably be sick if he had to open every song,” Liam says before he can stop himself. It’s not particularly nice, really, and Harry’s got much better with the stage fright. Well, he’s gone from actually being sick to just looking like he really wants to be sick, but it’s an improvement. 

“He really would be,” Louis says, and then adds: “Don’t feel bad, it’s true. Harry would agree if he were here.”

“I’m glad he’s not,” Liam blurts out, and is suddenly extremely grateful for the eerie lighting of the film opening, because it means there’s no way Louis can make out that he’s blushing. 

“Me too,” Louis says. 

And then the film is starting, and Louis is actually quiet for a few minutes, just long enough for Liam to miss his commentary. It’s not particularly good—not terrible either, but not amazing—and Louis always knows the funniest things to say about bad films. Luckily, he doesn’t have to wait much longer until Louis is back to hissing into his ear about how much better it would be if Katy Perry took her clothes off more. 

“There are _children_ here, Louis,” Liam hisses back.

“Well, there wouldn’t be if it were a porno, would there?” Louis says. 

Liam can’t stop giggling for ten minutes after that.

 

\--

 

On the walk back to their flats from the cinema, the backs of their hands keep brushing against each other, and Liam is acutely aware that if Louis were a girl, he’d have reached for her hand by now, that their fingers would be twined together as they walked. 

 

\--

 

It’s Louis who kisses him the first time, hesitant and quick, like if he does it fast enough, then Liam won’t notice that their mouths were pressed together. 

There’s no special occasion, they’re not about to start a tour or finish one, they haven’t broken any records or won any awards, but Zayn’s asleep on the sofa and Harry and Niall are whispering about something Liam hasn’t bothered to follow, and the TV’s on but it’s something none of them care about, and Louis just kissed him. It’s all blurred together, the ordinary bits and the bits that are the normal state of his life now, and _Louis kissed him_. 

He didn’t dream it, he doesn’t think, is pretty sure he was awake and alert and not hallucinating the way Louis leaned forward and kissed the corner of Liam’s mouth, almost imperceptibly soft. And now Louis’s looking down, studying Zayn’s quiff where it’s disheveled from sleep, and Liam wants to kiss him again. 

Liam always wants to kiss him, has for ages now, but Louis kissed him first and maybe that means he’s allowed. He leans forward and kisses Louis exactly the same way—quick and soft, against the corner of his mouth. If they were drunk—if Liam drank—they’d be able to laugh it off as less than he wants it to mean. 

And then Louis is kissing him properly, sealing their lips together and moving a hand so it’s around the back of Liam’s neck to hold him close. Slowly, Liam edges his mouth open and feels Louis do the same, until they’re kissing open-mouthed and a little messy. Louis’s tongue is chasing his and when his teeth scrape across Liam’s lip, Liam whimpers a little before he remembers they’re not alone. 

“Get a room,” Niall says, shoving at Liam’s knee until he pulls away from Louis’s mouth. Louis follows him, pressing a kiss to the corner of Liam’s mouth instead of letting him talk to Niall. 

They don’t, though. Louis lets Liam go and tucks his face into Liam’s shoulder, and after a few minutes, his breathing evens out and Liam knows he’s fallen asleep. 

He wakes up the next morning stretched out against the back of the sofa with Louis asleep half on top of him, and their hands twined together. It’s everything Liam’s been keeping himself from wanting all happening at the same time. Louis’s face is still tucked into the crook of Liam’s neck, breath warm and steady against his skin, and his other hand is resting against Liam’s stomach, thumb on the skin exposed where Liam’s shirt has ridden up in sleep. Liam never wants to move. 

He can’t go back to sleep, though, not with how keenly aware he is of all the places he’s pressed against Louis and the way he can feel Louis’s heartbeat against his chest. Liam closes his eyes and pretends he’s still asleep, because he’s too drowsy to move and besides, there’s no way he can get up without rousing Louis. 

He must doze off again, because the next thing he remembers is waking to the slightest pressure against his lips. When Liam opens his eyes, he sees Louis right in front of him, so close his face is blurry, and he realises that Louis must have kissed him. 

Then Louis does it again, a tiny close-mouthed kiss to the corner of Liam’s lips. Liam exhales heavily and thinks about going to the cinema and how he nearly held Louis’s hand, and how Louis kissed him the night before—and wraps a hand around the back of Louis’s neck to pull him into a real kiss. 

Louis kisses back immediately, his tongue on the seam of Liam’s lips and then in his mouth as soon as it’s open—Liam realises with slight horror he must have morning breath and tries to pull back, but Louis follows him and, well, if Louis doesn’t care then who is Liam to complain. 

It started quickly, but the kiss is drowsy otherwise, their mouths moving slowly together. Liam pulls away very slightly to press a soft kiss to the tip of Louis’s nose before he returns to his lips. The hand he has around the back of Louis’s neck has moved so it’s half-buried in his hair and Louis makes a quiet noise when Liam lets his fingernails scrap across the skin lightly. 

The noise sends of rush of blood toward Liam’s dick, which in turn sends a flashing reminder to his brain that he’s _making out with Louis while horizontal on the sofa_ , which leads to a moment of blind panic. Liam goes completely tense and Louis pulls away, his eyes sleepy and dark and concerned. 

“Is everything all right?” he asks, and his voice is so low and rough from sleep (and probably from kissing) that Liam can’t help leaning back up to capture his lips again. He nods into the kiss, which Louis may or may not have understood, but then Louis is kissing his way down Liam’s neck and he forgets there was ever a problem. 

It feels like hours that they lie there, legs tangled together, kissing lazily. By the time Louis finally nestles his head back into Liam’s chest, Liam’s lips are swollen and it’s difficult to remember how to breathe. He’s not quite hard, still too sleepy and distracted, but he can tell it would take a couple of good squirms from Louis, at best, to get him there. That doesn’t seem to be where this is going, though. 

He’s right—Louis doesn’t do anything except cuddle up against him, and Liam is sorely tempted to just go back to sleep; the warm weight on top of him is extremely comfortable, like a Louis-scented blanket, and sofa sleep is never the most restful to begin with. But they have jobs and responsibilities, and if they don’t get up, someone’s going to come looking for them—probably Paul, who’ll look extremely uncomfortable and then might try and talk to them about safe sex. Of course, he might also assume that they’ve taken to sleeping on top of each other even when they’re not piled into the back of a tour bus, which would be better than Niall or—

Belatedly, Liam remembers that Louis kissed him in front of everyone last night. They must have all shuffled off to their own bedrooms sometime after Liam and Louis passed out on the sofa, but Niall and Harry saw them. 

That’s just something they’ll have to deal with, he supposes.

“We need to get up,” he says to Louis half-heartedly. Louis buries his face deeper into Liam’s t-shirt, the same one he wore all day yesterday and that probably smells of slightly stale chips and Louis’s hair. 

“Nuh-uh,” Louis mumbles. Liam can feel the humidity of his breath through his shirt. 

“Mmhmm.” Liam nods, even though Louis can’t see him. “If we don’t, someone’s going to come and get us, and you know they’ll take the piss for weeks if they see us like this.”

“Don’t care,” Louis says, and Liam’s heart swells a little. He forces himself to not think about what that might mean, what Louis not caring that the others think they’re together might mean—a choice that turns out to be for the best, because seconds later, Louis is scrambling frantically off Liam. “Right,” he says, rubbing his eyes and stretching his arms quickly. “I’m up.”

It’s kind of comforting, in a strange way, that a couple of snogs on the sofa haven’t made Louis any less confusing, at least. Though it would be nice if he could act like a normal, predictable person for an hour together, because Liam’s head’s starting to hurt from trying to make sense of him all the time. 

“C’mon, Li,” Louis is saying, despite Liam being sure he’s visibly distracted. “We’ve got an interview at noon and you need to shower. And fix your hair; it looks like you just woke up and then got properly kissed.”

“I _did_ ,” Liam grumbles. “It’s your fault my hair looks this way. Besides, someone will style it before the interview.”

“You have to see Harry before then, and you know he’ll ask nosy questions.”

Reluctantly, because it means getting off the extremely comfortable sofa, Liam concedes that Harry will ask all kinds of nosy questions and probably snoop until he finds out anything they don’t volunteer. The hassle of a shower is probably worth it to avoid that. Besides, it’ll make getting styled for the interview easier.

 

\--

 

The interview is not a particularly interesting one. 

In fact, it’s so boring that Louis is completely off-track before they’ve got to the third question, tickling Harry and poking Liam in the stomach and trying to get Zayn in a headlock. Niall’s too far away to be terrorised and spends a lot more time laughing than he does paying attention to the interviewer, who looks more and more exasperated.

Liam takes pity on her, eventually. Just because they’ve answered all the questions a thousand times doesn’t mean she knows the answers. He forces himself to ignore Louis next to him, even though he can practically hear the encouraging grin on his face. Louis, as usual, wants Liam to do something, he’s not entirely sure what but it’ll probably turn the interview into a right mess. 

But that’s all normal, it’s exactly the way Louis has acted around him for almost as long as Liam can remember, which means it’s nothing to do with how they were snogging on a sofa this morning. Liam wants to act different—he wants to hold Louis’s hand and curl under his arm and kiss the side of his neck, all the things he’s honestly wanted since the first time Louis smiled at him properly—but if Louis isn’t going to then he probably shouldn’t either. 

So the interview goes more or less as usual—giggling and whispering between answers that are rote by now. Liam gives most of them, because he actually makes an effort. Harry answers a few, when he’s not whispering with Zayn or playing with Niall’s hair. Louis doesn’t answer any, which is the only really unusual thing that happens; he isn’t as good about it as Liam, but he does usually help out, especially if Harry and Niall and Zayn are giggly and useless. 

It’s honestly distracting to Liam that Louis is so distracted, and he hates that he’s this attuned to him. Liam learned a long time ago that it’s no use trying to sort out what’s going on in Louis’s head, though. 

He pulls Louis aside, after, with the intention of asking him if everything’s all right, but all that comes out is “Erm.” 

Louis looks confused, which is understandable because Liam isn’t making all that much sense. 

“Erm, I mean,” he tries again, but the words he needs to say— _we snogged a bit, are things going to be strange now? Does this mean we’re dating? I think I fancy you kind of a lot_ —stick in his throat and Paul’s calling them away before he can sort out how to make them leave his mouth. 

He follows Louis back to the van and they pile into the back row, but either by coincidence or design, Louis ends up on the far side from Liam, who’s trapped at one end by Niall sitting on his lap and Zayn’s arm around his shoulders. It’s probably unsafe for them to be in a moving car and sitting on each other’s laps, but they do a lot of unsafe things and Liam doesn’t have the time or energy to stop all of them. He holds on tight to Niall’s hips and hopes they don’t get in an accident.

Of course, it doesn’t go exactly according to plan.

“That tickles,” Niall says, squirming as best he can without falling out of Liam’s lap—and with Liam’s hands tight on his hips. 

“He’s being a human seatbelt for you,” Louis says—and it’s a bit strange, how Louis always seems to understand what Liam’s doing, because by all rights they shouldn’t be on the same wavelength at all, except somehow they are. 

Louis has his mouth against Harry’s ear and he’s whispering something. When he pulls away, Liam can see how huge his smile is—nothing like the guarded expression on his face after they kissed this morning, which stings more than a little. Maybe Louis doesn’t want to be kissing him, was just sleepy and confused and thought he was snogging Harry at first. 

But that doesn’t seem quite right either, because if Louis wanted to be kissing Harry, wouldn’t he be _kissing Harry_? The two of them already have a confusing and frequently inappropriate friendship, if they added snogging to it, it seems unlikely they would hide it. 

In all honesty, Liam’s not convinced they’d bother with going off somewhere alone to shag, if they were shagging.

Zayn might be trying to talk to him—he’s tugging on Liam’s earlobe a bit, and looking at him expectantly, which means that Liam ought to focus on what he’s saying instead of pining after Louis. 

It turns out what Zayn is saying is kind of related, anyway. “You all right, mate?” he asks.

Liam shrugs. “Fine,” he says, even though it’s half a lie. Louis and Harry are still whispering, and it still makes his heart feel like someone’s squeezing it. 

Zayn looks skeptical but has the sense to stop asking. 

Or rather, Zayn has the sense to stop asking until they’re back to their flats, because instead of going back to his own, he follows Liam into his and makes himself at home on the sofa while Liam putters about in the kitchen. 

“Would you like a cup of tea?” he calls.

“Deffo,” Zayn answers, and Liam bites back a giggle as he sets about making the tea. 

Before Liam’s even set the mugs down on the coffee table, Zayn catches his eye and says, “So are you actually all right?” and it’s harder to shrug it off here, in his flat with Zayn looking at him with concerned eyes and a mug of tea in front of him.

“I don’t know,” Liam says. “Louis and I snogged a bit on the sofa this morning. And a bit last night as well.”

“Well, that’s good, yeah?” Zayn grins at him, a little lecherous, and it occurs to Liam that despite all his efforts, he may not have been as subtle about fancying Louis as he’d hoped. 

“I guess,” he says. “He’s been a bit odd ever since, though.”

“Louis is always a bit odd,” Zayn points out. It’s not an unreasonable thing to say—Louis is often more than a bit odd but. Not like this.

Liam says as much, and Zayn nods, conceding the point. 

“What are you going to do?” Zayn asks.

Liam shrugs. “Leave it be for a bit, I think. See what happens.” Zayn is making his skeptical face, but Liam’s already set on this one. It’s not worth potentially driving Louis away right off. Patience is a virtue and all that.

He shoos Zayn out before Zayn can express any more skepticism about the quality of Liam’s plan, under the guise of wanting to take a nap if he’s going out with them that night.

“You’re deffo coming out,” Zayn says, and that seals it. A nap.

 

\--

 

Napping, it turns out, is futile, because Liam’s mind won’t stop playing back how it felt to wake up with Louis mostly on top of him and how Louis’s lips felt against his. He could use a wank, really, but it feels strange to do that while thinking of Louis’s mouth and—he’s not sure he could stop thinking about Louis’s mouth even if he wanted to. Which he really doesn’t.

Liam tosses and turns for a while, ignoring the way his skin feels like it’s the wrong size for his body, and tries everything he can think of to get to sleep—pillow over his eyes, pillows over his ears, lying on one side and the other and his back and his stomach. Eventually, he’s pretty sure he passes out for a bit, but the only clue is that the pounding against his door startles him out of some type of dazed stupor. He certainly doesn’t feel any better rested.

“Oi,” someone is yelling. “Oi, Liam, aren’t you coming out?”

“I fell asleep,” Liam yells, rubbing his eyes and climbing out of bed. “Let yourself in, all you lot have keys.”

And then the voice—definitely Harry’s—is getting a lot closer and Liam’s just trying to find trousers. He’s got one leg in, one leg out, when Harry opens his bedroom door and flops on the bed. “You’re not usually the late one,” he says, like Liam doesn’t know that already. 

“You’re making me stay out late,” Liam mock-grumbles. “I’m allowed a nap before.”

“Are you certain you’re not my nan?” Harry says. 

“Fairly,” Liam says, but he’s smiling as he does, and Harry tugs him onto the bed for a cuddle/hug/kiss/tickle that leaves his hair mussed and his shirt undone. 

“I’m glad you’re coming,” he says into Liam’s ear once Liam’s given up any hope of getting loose. And then Harry licks up the side of his neck, which surprises him a lot more than it should. “Louis is always happier when you come out with us.”

Liam’s not entirely sure what to make of that, so he just extricates himself from Harry and finishes getting dressed while Harry lies on his bed and makes vaguely inappropriate comments about his arse. 

“I thought you fancied that radio bloke,” Liam says, because after the third time Harry says his jeans make his arse look nice, he’s starting to get concerned. 

“I fancy everyone,” Harry says grandly, and it’s enough to make Liam giggle. 

“Even Paul?” Harry’s whole face kind of crinkles up, but he tilts head like he’s considering it. 

“Well, maybe not _everyone_ ,” he concedes. “But if you wore those jeans all the time, I might start fancying you.”

Liam doesn’t answer, but Harry is evidently smart enough to know what he’s not saying. “Louis isn’t going to be able to take his eyes off your arse.”

“Oh, um.” Liam swallows hard. “Good.”

Harry giggles. “I knew you had reasons for wearing those jeans, they look like they’re painted on.”

“Is it that bad?” Liam can feel himself blushing a bit, and weirdly, it’s always embarrassing to blush in front of Harry because nothing ever flusters him and it feels like he might make fun of Liam for being embarrassed. (He never actually does it, though; every time he doesn’t, it makes Liam want to hug him.) 

“More like that good,” Harry says. “You want Louis to stare at your arse, yeah? So wear jeans that’ll make it easy for him.”

In the end, Harry basically has to drag Liam out the door, because Liam keeps saying he has trousers that fit better and these jeans are too tight anyway. Harry’s nearly doubled over from laughing and keeps assuring Liam that it’ll be worth it for the look on Louis’s face when he sees Liam. 

It is.

Louis goes kind of spluttery and red and immediately gets deeply involved in whatever nonsense Niall is saying, but his eyes keep flicking back to Liam’s legs and, well. This is worth the five minutes it took to get the jeans on, and probably the ten minutes it’ll take to get them off at the end of the night too. That said, Louis looks good too, his shirt fitting tight through his shoulders and emphasizing the arms he’s so—unjustifiably—proud of. 

The first thought Liam has is that he wants to lick him.

This solidifies in his mind every decision he’s ever made to not drink, because he’s pretty sure that taking the desire to lick Louis and adding alcohol ends with him _actually_ licking Louis. 

The club they go to is like every other club they’ve ever been to—loud, full of sweaty drunk people dancing to music so loud and with so much bass that the melody is indistinguishable, and surrounded on the outside by people who all want to take their pictures. And somehow, between the time he got sent home after judges houses and the time Simon Cowell told them he was signing them, this became Liam’s life. It’s fucking terrifying, really, but he’s got Zayn laughing into the crook of his neck and Harry’s arm draped over his shoulders and for whatever reason, that makes it all worthwhile. 

Liam doesn’t let himself think anything unforgivably sappy like how it would all be worth it for the times that Louis has fallen asleep on him or smiled at him like he’s the only person in the world or made him laugh so hard it gives him a headache. 

Zayn drags Liam to the bar with him, even though he knows Liam’s not getting anything to drink, and convinces him that he ought to at least try the virgin version of something horrifically pink. The worst part of this is that the drink is actually pretty good; Liam’s got no idea what it is, and he had to convince the barman not to put an umbrella in, but it tastes kind of fantastic. 

When they return to the table the other boys have commandeered, in a poorly-lit corner but with a sofa, Niall bursts out laughing at the sight of Liam’s drink. “Wow, I didn’t think you were the type,” he says, and Liam shifts uncomfortably.

“It’s virgin,” Zayn says. Niall smiles, nods like he wants to say _of course it is_. Louis, though, Louis gets this expression on his face that Liam can’t understand at all. He might say it was fond, but Niall’s smile is fond, Harry’s eyes are fond—this is something else. 

Louis looks away abruptly, taking a long pull from his pint glass. 

Liam stays on the sofa most of the night—Harry and Louis and Niall and Zayn (after a couple of drinks) are willing to dance even though they know it makes them look right idiots, but Liam’s never been especially keen on it. Maybe that’s what the alcohol is for, to make something that’s too embarrassing to be fun more funny than mortifying. He drinks another two of the pink things while he watches them.

He’s hardly ever alone, though; it’s like they’ve come up with some elaborate plan that at least one of them is always flopped next to Liam on the sofa, chattering at him or just giggling absently or swaying distractedly to the music. It takes Liam probably half the night to realise that it’s never just him and Louis on the couch, but once he’s noticed, he can’t think of anything else. 

Louis is dancing right now—not particularly well, admittedly, but he’s swaying his hips with something that resembles rhythm—and Liam can’t stop staring at him. Niall’s curled up against Liam, mumbling something semi-incoherent about his favorite football team, and Liam’s toying absently with his hair because he knows Niall likes it, but his attention is on the gyrations of Louis’s hips and the way the flashing club lights make his motions seems uncontrolled and erratic. 

He might be dancing _with someone_ , it’s hard to tell through the terrible lighting, and Liam really doesn’t want to know if he is. The thought of it makes his stomach flip and it’s already too full of unsettlingly sweet drinks to be entirely comfortable. Mostly, though, Liam is entranced by his hips and shoulders moving in the semi-darkness, rhythmic but ungraceful. 

Some amount of time passes with Liam just staring—Niall leaves to get another pint, and Harry drops onto the sofa in his place, pressing his face into Liam’s shoulder and giggling about something unknowable to anyone not drunk. Liam doesn’t pay him any mind, just keeps watching Louis, thinking about the way Louis moved on top of him that morning, and then about all the reasons he shouldn’t be thinking about that at all. And then he’s thinking about the kissing that morning, and maybe his face or his posture or his demeanor changes, because Harry picks his head up and meets Liam’s eyes with his drunk smile, the one that he wears when he knows he ought to be serious but is just a little bit too far gone to pull it off. 

“You really fancy him, don’t you?” he says, words ever so slightly slurred. 

Liam just nods. If Harry’s asking him now, when he’s just spent five minutes entranced by the way his fingers move, then there’s no way he’s not picked up on it sober, it’s just he didn’t want to bring it up sober, which is—more considerate than Liam had expected him to be. It’s oddly touching. 

“Gonna do anything about it?” Harry continues. 

“We snogged this morning,” Liam says before he can think better of it, and Harry’s eyes go comically wide. 

“Did you really?” He scrunches his nose up for a minute, and then adds: “That was rhetorical. Don’t answer it.”

Liam swallows the, “Of course, I would never make something like that up,” that’s on the tip of his tongue. 

“Well, shagging’s the next step, yeah?” He can feel himself turning red at Harry’s words, but it’s dark in the club, maybe he won’t notice. “Are you blushing, Lee-yum?” Harry asks, biting playfully at Liam’s neck. So much for that hope. 

“Lou’s been weird all day,” Liam says, as softly as he can with the thudding bass around them. 

“Avoiding him won’t make it any better,” Harry says, and then he’s hauling Liam off the sofa and dragging him towards the dance floor. Before Liam’s fully caught up with what’s happening, he’s standing next to Louis, who drapes an arm over Harry and says, louder than he needs to, “Have you got Liam to agree to dance? Are you going to dance with me, Liam?”

There is no possible way Liam could say no, not with the huge smile on Louis’s face and the way he’s reaching for Liam’s hand. He’s always rubbish at saying no to Louis, but this Louis, the one who looks at him like he’s the greatest thing in the world, Liam has no idea what to do with that except let himself be led into an uncoordinated dance. 

Even drunk, Louis seems aware that he’s not a particularly talented dancer, and thus they do more flailing about and giggling than anything that’s actually dancing and—Liam actually enjoys it. It’s not what he would choose to do every day, maybe, but anything he can do to make Louis laugh like that, that’s something worth doing over and over and over again. 

Louis’s hands are curled on his hips, not quite resting loosely but not really holding tight either, and Liam wants them to grip harder, wants to know what it feels like for Louis to pull him in close so they’re pressed together from hip to shoulder and swaying like it’s the last song at a leavers’ ball neither of them got to go to. This isn’t the music for that, so Liam just lets Louis move his hips and moves uncomfortably to the beat as best he can. He thinks he must look even sillier than Harry did with that awful penguin dance, but Louis is still smiling at him and Liam would dance forever to keep Louis looking like that. 

Louis isn’t even particularly drunk—Liam’s seen him so plastered he can barely stand up, and so plastered he’s babbling incoherently about people Liam’s never met and things Liam’s never done, but tonight he’s just smiling a little wider, moving a little more loosely, laughing a little more openly. 

And then the music shifts, and it’s not a slow song like Liam imagined, but it’s not the same pounding club music that was playing before, either. For lack of a better word, it’s sensual, the type of music that people dance to like they want to shag on the dance floor and—and Louis is dancing like that, and he’s doing it _with Liam_. His hips are swaying the same way they were earlier, when Liam was so hypnotized, but now they’re standing close enough together that they brush against his every so often. 

Louis’s hands are still resting on his hips, nearly against skin but frustratingly not quite there yet, but he’s finally dragging Liam a bit closer in—not that Liam’s resisting at all, because the laughter and the touching and Louis’s infectious smile have loosened him. Their hips don’t quite lock together, but it’s a near thing, and just as heady. 

Liam loses track of everything except the places that Louis is touching him—hips, waist, shoulders, back—his hands keep moving like he wants to touch Liam all over. 

That’s a thought he needed to have approximately never, because now there are pictures flashing through his head of Louis actually touching him all over, running his hands up Liam’s thighs and down his stomach and nipping at his hipbones and Liam doesn’t just want all that to happen, he wants to do those things to Louis as well. He wants to kiss Louis and he wants to kiss him everywhere without any clothes on and he wants to do it a lot and—he doesn’t have the words for any of it, especially not here and now and like this. 

Liam’s good at plenty of things—he’s good at singing, and sport, and good at making people feel comfortable, and good at being responsible and sensible—but he’s never been particularly good at this, the part where you go from fancying someone to being with someone. Harry seems to think it’s possible, and Louis snogged him last night and then again this morning, and they’re dancing together in a way that feels charged, but Liam doesn’t know what he needs to do to cut through the tension. 

Finally, during the brief respite between songs, he forces himself to speak. “Do you want to go outside for a mo, get some air?” he asks, and Louis nods enthusiastically. 

The air outside is less fresh than he’d hoped—it’s the downside of the smoking laws, everyone heads outside for a fag and the air’s so thick with tobacco smoke Liam can barely breathe—but at least it’s quieter. 

“So,” Liam says, trailing off when he realises that there are about fifteen other people outside and, sure, none of them are acting like they’ve recognised the two lads who just stepped outside, but polite discretion is one thing and assuming they’ll keep quiet after hearing one member of One Direction proposition another is something else entirely. 

Louis looks at him expectantly, and Liam wishes he knew what to say—he’s always the one who knows what to say, in interviews and to fans—but he hasn’t got the faintest idea. He’s meant to be the sensible one, and usually he’s good at it as well, but he’s completely out of his depth here. There are people all around them and, after the densely packed club, it felt pleasantly open, but now Liam’s painfully aware of how quiet it is, how anything they say is going to be overheard. 

“About this morning,” he says, finally, the words loaded but not openly so. 

There’s a long silence, and Liam watches Louis closely. He’s frowning slightly, like he’s thinking, and then he looks up to meet Liam’s eyes. “Do you want to go home?” Louis asks. 

Liam is pretty sure his stomach just relocated to somewhere near his ankles. That’s probably not what Louis meant, he probably just wants them away from eyes and ears and mobile phone cameras, but Liam can’t unhear the proposition, the version of the question that means _do you want to go home and shag all night?_

He nods quickly, because there’s no way that trying to speak right now is going to end well, and Louis smiles at him. It’s not—it’s not one of the smiles that Liam is used to, where Louis’s eyes go all crinkly. If he didn’t know better, he would say that Louis was nervous. 

Liam has no idea what to do about it, and there’s not much can be done _here_ anyway, and it’s easier to just beckon Louis softly and start walking toward the street. As he does, he pulls out his mobile to text the others ( _louisssss and me r going home lattteerrr_ ). 

They find a taxi easily enough, but the ride is so tense it makes Liam’s skin crawl. He wants to talk to Louis, to ask him what everything means but he—the way Louis does things always seems so much easier. Maybe the best thing to do here is let Louis take point—he’s learned, in the last couple of years, that sometimes letting Louis be in charge of things works out well. Liam remembers very clearly how they were nearly at each other’s throats trying to decide who ought to be in charge of what, but what he remembers even better is how well it worked out and how much of that was Louis’s doing. 

Louis, who forced Liam to share the responsibilities and kept them both sane by doing it, who worked so hard to pull Liam out of his shell for so long, is staring determinedly out the window on the far side of the taxi. There’s no inconspicuous way to get his attention, not with the cabbie in the front seat, but Liam reaches across the seat until his fingers are just brushing against the edge of Louis’s hand. 

Louis doesn’t flinch away, though he doesn’t move into the touch either. Liam counts it as a win. 

 

\--

 

As soon as Liam’s opened the door to his flat, Louis pushes him through it. It’s the first time he’s touched Liam since they danced in the club, and Liam wasn’t anticipating it at all. He’d thought Louis would be standoffish, still, avoid eye contact and anything that might break what they have between them now.

But he’s never been able to anticipate Louis, that’s half the fun of it, and now Louis has both arms around Liam’s neck, pulling him down into a kiss that’s making it extremely difficult for Liam to think about anything else. Louis has a hand in Liam’s hair, tilting his head down, and his mouth is open, tongue pressing against the seam of Liam’s lips. It’s fast and reckless and heady and—well, it’s _Louis_. Anything else would just be unlike him. 

And—and it’s not like this isn’t what Liam wanted, after all. He winds an arm around Louis’s waist and pulls him up onto his toes, trying for a better angle, and Louis comes easily, pushing in closer and kissing Liam harder without resistance. 

Liam’s not sure how long they spend like that, standing just through the door of his flat and kissing. It’s all a blur of Louis’s mouth and his tongue and his hands, and Liam wants to touch as much of Louis as he can. Mostly, though, he doesn’t want to stop kissing Louis, except maybe to trail his lips down Louis’s neck, or for a few seconds so that he can fumble with Louis’s t-shirt and tug it off him. 

They take a few messy steps together, directed by Louis—who cannot possibly be paying perfect attention to where he’s moving them because his mouth is working against Liam’s neck—and Liam feels his back hit the wall. It takes a moment to register where they’ve moved, because he’s busy moving his hands across Louis’s chest, exploring the expanses of skin he’s seen so many times before but never been able to touch like this. And Louis is fumbling with Liam’s shirt, and they’re still kissing, Louis’s teeth running almost-but-not-quite harshly across Liam’s lower lip, and then Louis is hoisting himself up against Liam, pressing them together even closer. 

Liam’s never been one for games of dominance, but Louis is trying to physically climb him and he’s not going to complain because _Louis_ , and, well, this would be easier with Louis’s back to the wall. He spins them easily enough, and Louis tugs his shirt over his head as he moves with Liam, and then he’s just staring at Liam with an expression Liam’s never seen before. 

Liam crowds him, just a little, because he wants to feel Louis’s skin against his, and Louis seems to realise where he is, between Liam and the wall. His eyes narrow momentarily, and then he’s surging up and kissing Liam breathless, his tongue moving in ways that Liam can’t follow and is certain he could never imitate but that make him lightheaded anyway. 

Unsure of what to do with his hands, unwilling to do anything that might make Louis stop kissing him, Liam wraps them around Louis’s biceps and lets himself be kissed. He might be rubbing against Louis, probably is, but all he can think about is his hands tight on Louis’s arms and the way Louis still hasn’t stopped kissing. Liam’s dangerously tempted to just keep their mouths sealed together until they pass out but—

This is clearly going somewhere. Liam’s never kissed anyone like this—or been kissed like this—and not had it end with sex, and—

“C’mon, Louis,” Liam says, hoarse. “There’s a bed in the next room.”

“No,” Louis gasps against Liam’s lips. “No, here.”

Liam swallows hard, and forces himself to speak. “Against,” he begins, and has to take a steadying breath before he can finish his sentence. “Against the wall?”

“Fuck, yes, please,” Louis says, and then he’s kissing Liam again and Liam can barely remember which way is up with Louis’s tongue in his mouth and Louis’s fingers fumbling with the zip of his jeans. 

Well, it’s not like he could ever have said no to a Louis pressed against him and kissing him for all he’s worth, but Liam can’t deny that the mental image of having Louis’s legs around his waist and pressing him into a wall is making him even more lightheaded. 

And then Louis is actually hoisting himself up, arms looped around Liam’s neck and his legs wrapping tight around Liam’s hips. Reflexively, Liam drops his hands to hold Louis’s thighs, and they slot against each other; Liam thinks his eyes roll back when his crotch rubs against Louis’s. 

He’s never done this before, so wild and uncontrolled, and he’s not sure it’s what he’d choose—so much of him wants to lay Louis out on his bed and explore every inch of him with his tongue—but this is what it feels like to not think at all and, well, doesn’t Louis always say he thinks too much? And it’s amazing, rolling his hips against Louis and feeling him shift, back pressed to the wall and arms tight around Liam’s neck. Louis has his head dropped back as far as he can, and the temptation to bite at the tendons of his neck is too strong; Liam does it, enjoying the whimper Louis lets out in response. 

Liam wastes a couple of moments wondering if he’ll be able to come like this, if Louis will, from just grinding mindlessly against each other, trousers still on and mouths sealed together again, and then Louis tightens his legs, drawing Liam’s hips impossibly closer. Liam gasps into Louis’s mouth; Louis just pulls his legs even tighter. 

The friction of it is bordering on too much. Liam can feel the zip of his jeans through his boxers, rough against his dick, and the discomfort is the only reason he hasn’t come yet. Louis’s whole face has gone slack and he’s not even moving, just letting Liam rub off against his dick and threading his hands into Liam’s hair. 

“Fuck,” Louis hisses. His voice is even rougher than the last time he spoke, he sounds like he’s about to come and it’s the hottest thing Liam’s ever heard, makes his whole body shake with how many things he wants to do to Louis. “Fuck,” Louis continues. “Just a little more, Liam.”

Liam lets himself rub off as frantically as he can, and Louis’s voice cracks the next time he says “Liam,” shaky and high-pitched and breathless. 

And Louis is tensing, his legs so tight around Liam’s hips it’s almost painful, and Liam can’t feel him come but he can see it in the way his eyes go completely unfocused and his whole body shakes. He finally goes completely slack, deadweight against Liam, and his head falls forward into Liam’s shoulder. 

“Louis,” Liam says softly, because he’s enjoying this a lot (even though he’s also so hard he could cut diamonds). “Louis, I can’t just carry you.”

“Mmph,” Louis says, but he lets his legs fall from Liam’s hips. He stays propped against Liam, though, arms snug around his neck and still mostly deadweight. 

“We need to move.” It comes out sounding not at all like what he’d intended, suggestive and loaded and like he just wants to get himself off instead of considerate, but Louis just leers at him a bit and looks him up and down. 

“I want you to fuck me,” Louis says. 

Liam closes his eyes and takes several deep breaths and tries not to have a stroke. 

“Yeah,” he finally chokes out. “Yeah, okay, good.” 

And then they’re stumbling toward his bedroom, kissing against walls on the way; Liam is a bit frantic with it, and Louis is becoming that way again, pushing Liam against anything flat and stable and kissing him for all he’s worth. It’s so easy to sink into Louis, to let himself get drawn into his touch and the taste of his mouth. 

Everything’s become a haze of touch, Louis’s hands all over him, under the waist of his trousers and in his hair and moving almost frantically across his skin; Liam barely knows how they get down the corridor to his room but then they’re tumbling onto the bed and Louis is straddling his hips and he remembers, vaguely, something about fucking but this could be enough, just letting himself rock against Louis until he comes. 

But then Louis stops moving—Liam may or may not whine and press up against him harder—and grins down at him salaciously. “So,” he says, and if it weren’t for the rough timbre of his voice he’d sound just as smug as he did the first time he ever got a rise out of Liam, though so much kinder now than then. “About that fucking.”

“Right,” Liam says. Honestly, he’s torn between wanting to get on with it because he’s going out of his mind with Louis right there and half-naked and wanting, still, to lay Louis out and lick his entire body, the jut of his collarbone and the lines of his stomach and the curves of his biceps and the length of his cock. 

Louis clearly knows what he wants, though, and that’s evidently for Liam to fuck him. (Maybe if he keeps thinking it, it’ll get less overwhelming, it’ll feel more real and less like an excruciatingly realistic dream.)

“Come on,” Louis says—whines, cajoles, Liam can’t even tell—rocking his hips slowly against Liam’s. For the first time, Liam realises he might not be the only one desperate for this, that Louis might have been going just as mad over Liam as Liam’s been going over him. 

“I need to,” Liam begins, but Louis tweaks his nipple and the sentence tapers off. It’s such a familiar motion, something Louis’s done to him a thousand times, but it’s completely different in this context—namely, it doesn’t hurt anymore, it’s just a bit softer and Liam arches up into it. “Louis,” he hears himself say, even know he knows that he was planning to say something about needing to get to the nightstand for _supplies_. 

“Do you even have condoms?” Louis asks, teasing but ineffectually so because his voice breaks when Liam pushes up on his elbows and bites down on the side of his neck. 

He’s always wondered about this, since the first time Louis sucked a joking lovebite into his neck, whether there was a reason beyond trying to embarrass Liam in public, what Louis would do if Liam turned around a bit back. The answer is even better than Liam had ever dared hope, Louis going almost boneless on top of him except where he’s pressing his hips into Liam’s harder than before. 

“You like that a lot,” Liam says and if he meant it to sound dirty, he’s fallen far short. The words come out wondering, a little awed. He never wants to stop looking at Louis, his face unguarded and affectionate and _aroused_. Liam made him look like that, too, which is maybe the best part of it all. 

He does, at least, have the presence of mind to take advantage of Louis’s distraction and roll them over. It’s a lot easier to lunge for the nightstand and fumble in the drawer for a condom and the small bottle of lube he keeps there when Louis isn’t rocking him into the bed with his hips. Maybe the best part of finally getting his lube in hand—he drops the condom onto the bed for later—is the way Louis’s eyes go wide and Liam can practically hear him running down in his head all the reasons Liam might have lube in his nightstand. 

“I didn’t expect—” Louis says, and he sounds a little choked. Liam enjoys it maybe a little too much, shrugging nonchalantly. Well, he hopes it’s nonchalant. 

“Makes wanking a bit more interesting,” he says, because it’s worth the slight embarrassment of voicing that particular habit to watch as Louis reacts to it, his mouth open slightly. 

“Are you trying to kill me?” he asks, and Liam hums in response. 

“Not especially. If you’re dead, I can’t fuck you.” The word doesn’t sit quite right on his tongue, he’s not used to swearing even now, but there’s no other way to put it that won’t make Liam feel like he’s turned into the overly sappy hero of a Mills and Boon novel. 

“Just get the fuck on with it already,” Louis says after a brief pause. His voice is as tense as Liam feels; neither of them is even really moving and it’s probably better that way, because just about anything would tip Liam over the edge right now. “I want your cock inside me as soon as fucking possible.”

There’s nothing like nearly blacking out from arousal to spur a man to action, Liam thinks wryly, climbing off Louis’s hips and tugging his jeans down. He nearly gets Louis’s wrapped around his head as they’re tossed across the room, but ignores them in favor of sending his own in the same direction. Taking a deep breath, he glances over at where Louis is completely naked beside him, because he—he apparently wasn’t wearing any pants. The deep breath was nearly not enough preparation for that. 

Louis is arranging himself hurriedly, his movements bordering on frantic, as Liam fumbles to slick up his fingers. By the time he’s managed to coat them generously, Louis is on his back with a pillow under his hips—and flushed all over, and his cock is completely hard again, leaving slick marks across his stomach, and Liam kind of wants to die. 

Instead of dying, though, he kneels between Louis’s sprawled legs and reaches down to stroke a finger lightly across his hole. 

Louis’s whole body arches in response, because he’s sensitive or because he’s desperate or because he’s already come once tonight, Liam has neither an idea nor the breath to ask. 

“Please,” Louis says, and Liam obliges him. Because, as usual, he’s completely rubbish at saying no to Louis. 

His middle finger slips in easily, slick with lube, and Louis pushes back onto it almost immediately. The angle is different than Liam’s used to, he’s never done this to anyone but himself, but it’s easier to work up a steady rhythm this way, especially with Louis moving as well. 

When Liam slips a second finger in, he changes the angle just slightly, and Louis’s entire body goes taut, arching off the bed. That’s—Liam wants to see him do that, hips lifting and mouth opening, every day for the rest of his life. 

The realization throws him slightly, the _rest of his life_ part at least. He’s always known he was the commitment type—he’s only ever had a couple of one-offs and he didn’t enjoy them much—but Liam can’t say he’s ever looked at someone while he’s got his fingers inside them and actually thought that he wants it for the rest of his life. 

That’s a lot.

Louis whines softly, pulling Liam out of his minor crisis; Liam realises he’s stilled his fingers and Louis, understandably enough, wishes he hadn’t. 

To make it up to him, Liam kisses him while he works a third finger in, swallowing Louis’s gasps and then pulling back to watch his hips writhe, like he’s trying to grind against the air above his dick, desperate for friction that’s nowhere to be found. 

“Please,” Louis says again, but Liam can barely make the word out this time. It trails off into incoherent noises, and Liam is transfixed by everything—his fingers disappearing into Louis, the slick redness of Louis’s cock, the way it jerks when he grazes his fingers across Louis’s prostate. His own cock, neglected while he prepped Louis, jerks untouched when Louis lets out a hoarse whimper that might have originally been Liam’s name. 

“Christ, Louis,” he says, reverent and rough and a little constricted. “Are you—this isn’t going to last very long.”

He expects Louis to laugh a little, because he’d never pass up an opportunity to rib Liam about his stamina (or lack thereof), but he nods frantically instead. “Fuck, Liam, fuck,” he says. “So ready, please. Fuck me.”

Liam files the information that Louis doesn’t tease him when he’s desperate to get off somewhere in the back of his mind—it’s probably gone forever, he’s so hard there’s no way there’s any bloodflow to his brain at all right now—and, well, gets on with it. It’s easier not to think about how he’s about to fuck Louis, in part because it makes him a little anxious and in part because it’s so hot he’s worried he’ll pass out before he actually gets to do it. 

Just getting the condom on is an affair, his fingers shaking as he rolls it down, trying not to focus on the weight of Louis’s gaze, because touching his cock while Louis watches is probably enough to get him off at this point. 

Taking steadying breaths and determinedly not paying attention to the open, desperate expression on Louis’s face, Liam positions himself between Louis’s spread legs. 

“Um,” he says, his voice shaking audibly. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Just go slowly,” Louis says, which isn’t a lot of information to work with but Liam’s done a bit of research—so what if that means asking Harry and ending up with a lot of porn, he tried. So he closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, he grips the base of his cock and guides himself in slowly. 

And tries not to stop breathing or black out or anything else that would cause this to end prematurely, because it’s so hot and so tight and Louis’s face is—unlike anything Liam’s ever seen, on him or on anyone else, and part of him wants to push all the way in and pound Louis until he’s shaking but another part wants to draw it out, make it last all night and into the morning. 

Finally, he bottoms out and, and Louis is nearly vibrating around him, his hips twitching against Liam’s. Everything in the room has gone a little hazy except Louis’s face and his hands gripping Liam’s biceps and the way he clenches around Liam’s dick. 

“Move,” he hisses, sounding impossibly even more wrecked than before. 

Somehow, incredibly, it’s _even better_ when he starts moving, because Louis is rocking in time with his thrusts and one of them is moaning—maybe they’re both moaning—Liam is pretty sure he’s just saying _Louis_ over and over in some terrible refrain. Bracing his arms on the bed, Liam goes faster, relishing the way Louis’s moans go higher and higher until they’re more like breathy gasps. 

One of Louis’s hands leaves Liam’s bicep, and he watches, detached, as it moves between them and brushes across his stomach on its way to Louis’s cock. Maybe Liam ought to be jerking him off, he thinks weakly, but he’s doing as much as he can to keep from collapsing on Louis or just pounding into him until he screams.

He thinks he might be able to make Louis scream, sometime, with enough buildup and enough privacy. 

That’s the thought that tips him over the edge, and then he does collapse a bit. Everything fades out as he buries his face in Louis’s shoulder, biting down on the flushed skin there. 

When he manages to open his eyes and focus on Louis again, the first thing he notices is that Louis’s hand—still trapped between them—has stopped moving, and Louis is breathing even more heavily than before. Liam forces himself back up onto his elbows and off Louis, trying the condom off and tossing it in the direction of the bin. He might have hit it, but even if not, the prospect of moving is overwhelming. 

“I think you missed,” Louis says weakly, but he’s curling back over toward Liam like he might want to snuggle. 

Liam wants to snuggle. “Don’ care,” he says, wrapping an arm loosely around Louis’s shoulders and pulling him closer. 

Louis wipes his come-covered hand off in Liam’s hair, and Liam is too spent to even grimace before he falls asleep, fingers curling around Louis’s arm. 

 

\--

 

Liam can feel the sun against his eyelids, which means it’s probably midmorning at the earliest, but he’s still completely knackered.

Also, not especially keen on opening his eyes.

If he opens his eyes Louis might not be there. Liam thinks he probably is, because as much as Louis is a mystery to him, he’s not an arsehole. But Liam’s good at worse case scenarios and being prepared and, well, there’s a chance that if he opens his eyes and rolls over, the other side of the bed will be empty. 

It’s probably not; the sheets are unusually warm, and he’s pretty sure he can hear steady breathing. But. It might be. 

Taking a deep breath, Liam forces his eyes open, squinting against the sun that’s leaking in around his blinds, and looks over—at Louis, curled towards him so close they’re nearly touching. Liam feels his heart flop about messily, because Louis isn’t just there, he’s sleeping and he looks so content it’s almost painful to watch. Unable to stop himself, Liam presses a soft kiss to Louis’s forehead, just above the line of his eyebrows, and then pulls away to, well, not watch Louis sleep because that would be a bit off, but maybe move a bit closer to him and let their hands touch under the duvet. 

He doesn’t fall back asleep, though he dozes a bit, and eventually Louis wakes up as well, his eyes hazy with sleep. He squints at Liam for a few moments, slowly dragging himself up enough to kiss him quickly but thoroughly. 

And then Louis is scrambling out of the bed, glancing at the clock and smiling weakly. “I need to go,” he says. “See you at the thing tonight?”

Liam blinks twice, mumbling out something he thinks was probably a yes. 

This isn’t really what he’d expected, not after last night. Not after the way that Louis was curled into him. 

But Louis stayed the night and kissed him this morning and—Liam’s not sure what’s happening. If Louis were going to run out of him, wouldn’t he have snuck out in the middle of the night? But then, he has trouble picturing Louis doing that, because he’s always the type to let people down easy. 

So maybe he was letting Liam down easy? But then why the kiss, which didn’t feel forced or perfunctory. 

Liam flops back against his pillow. At least he’s used to Louis not making any sense. 

 

\--

 

That night isn’t anything particularly exciting, if Liam’s honest, just a meeting with some people from their label over dinner. He’s honestly not sure what it’s meant to accomplish, because none of the people they’re meeting with have much pull, he doesn’t think. This is Louis’s domain, really, but Louis is sitting quietly tonight. 

It’s disturbing, to watch Louis sit at the far end of the table, uncharacteristically quiet and reserved. He doesn’t seem to think the meeting’s anything important—and nor do the execs they’re with, for that matter. Harry and Zayn are getting progressively tipsier as the night goes on, and no one is concerned enough to stop them. 

Well, it’s not like anyone other than Liam has ever been concerned about stopping anyone, and Liam’s too focused on Louis to handle anyone else tonight. Niall, unusually enough, isn’t drunk, but he’s just watching as Harry and Zayn egg each other on to some end Liam wasn’t paying enough attention to remember. Matt and Christine, from the label, are talking to Louis, who’s nodding along and occasionally going so far as to look contemplative or agree vocally. 

All in all, it’s a complete waste of an evening, and Liam wishes he were in a better mood so he wouldn’t have to admit that. 

It’s just—Louis leaving that morning has got him all confused and shaken up. Last night, when they were kissing—when they were fucking—it didn’t feel like something that was only going to happen once, it felt like something Liam could happily do a hundred times more, _at least_. But then Louis ran out in the morning and Liam has absolutely no idea what that means.

He’s never had a fling with anyone. It sounds so ridiculous when he thinks it like that, because he’s had so many girls throw themselves at him (and a few blokes as well), but sex for the sake of sex has never seemed worth it. If there’s not going to be any emotions, any connection with the other person, he might as well bring himself off and not have to deal with any awkwardness, yeah? 

But—Louis. Is Louis. With his smile and his never-ending quest to get Liam to laugh, the one that started as a quest to get Liam to smile and hug and cuddle, and his stupidly attractive face, and the way he looks at Liam sometimes—

“Liam,” someone is saying to him, a little terse.

“Hmm?” Liam says, blinking rapidly. He wishes, briefly, that he could order a drink without raising too many eyebrows—it would slow his brain down just enough to keep him worrying about everything, maybe, keep him from staring at the shape of Louis’s arms under his jumper. 

“We’re about ready to go,” Niall says. “You were completely out of it, mate.”

“Yeah,” Liam says, choosing his words. “Ended up staying up entirely too late last night.”

Across the table, Louis turns an extremely satisfying shade of pink. 

Liam lets himself get dragged outside, where there’s a car waiting for them—of course there is, there always is. He’s just never quite got used to not having to deal with getting himself places, and there’s always a nagging voice in the back of his head saying they need to catch a cab back to their flats. 

Instead, they all pile into the car, Harry even cuddlier than usual because of the copious amounts he’s had to drink. Zayn’s half in his lap and giggling nonstop, which isn’t being helped by the way Niall’s poking at his sides until he’s squirming. Liam meets Louis’s eyes—they’re at opposite sides of the car—and smiles wryly. 

Louis smiles back and—that means something, right? That has to mean something.

Back at their flats, they don’t separate; Liam’s not sure whether he was expecting that or not, but he certainly wasn’t expecting everyone to just trail him through his door and pile themselves on his sofa. He’s never quite sorted out why everyone likes his flat best—Harry and Louis’s is bigger, and Niall’s has a much nicer telly—but they evidently do. 

For lack of a better option, Liam squeezes himself into the armchair next to Zayn, who curls an arm possessively around Liam’s shoulders. It’s as comfortable as he’s been in ages, except for last night, but Liam cuts off that train of thought before it can get started.

Harry’s passed into the drowsy—and occasionally mopey—stage of tipsy, the one where he pours himself into Louis’s lap (or anyone’s lap, if Louis isn’t available) and whinges endlessly about whatever’s upsetting him at the moment. Currently, what’s upsetting him appears to be Nick Grimshaw, if the way he’s rambling against Louis’s shoulder is any indication. 

“He talks about me all the time, everyone says.” Harry’s words aren’t quite slurred, but he’s visibly intoxicated and sleepy to boot. “But he never does _anything_ , Lou, no matter what I say or anything.” The last word trails off in a reasonably pathetic whine, and Louis looks like he’s torn between genuine sympathy and laughing at Harry’s plight. 

“Love,” he says eventually, stroking Harry’s hair softly. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you do kind of flirt with everyone you meet. Might be Grimmy hasn’t noticed he’s anything special.”

Harry hums sleepily. 

“He’s not going to remember any of this tomorrow,” Zayn whispers to Liam, and Liam laughs quietly.

“Not a chance.”

Zayn hauls himself out of the armchair, walking over to the sofa and pulling Harry out of Liam’s lap. “Come on, babe, let’s get you home.” Harry just kind of lets himself be dragged around, making a low noise that sounds disappointed when Louis’s hand leaves his hair. 

Niall follows them out the door, winking at Liam, and it’s entirely possible they’ve been significantly less subtle than Liam thought they were being. 

And then he and Louis are alone. 

“Er,” Liam says. 

“C’mere,” Louis says, giving Liam a once-over that makes him shiver a bit. 

He wants to sit down next to Louis and talk to him until he understands what’s happening with them, but Louis doesn’t look like that’s what he’s interested in doing and—well, everyone really does tell Liam he takes things too seriously. Maybe this doesn’t have to be such a grand affair, maybe they can just shag a bit and everything will sort itself out in time. 

That doesn’t seem like such an unreasonable thing to think, so Liam lets himself be beckoned to the sofa and lets Louis tug him down into a kiss with a hand around his neck. 

Before long, Liam’s kneeling over Louis, straddling his hips, and exploring Louis’s mouth with his tongue. Not long after that, they’re sprawled out on Liam’s bed, and he’s taking his time, finding all the places that make Louis squirm away or push into the touch or arch off the bed, whimpering and begging. And then Louis is distracting Liam with a kiss so hard he actually sees stars, flipping them over and—after that everything’s a bit of a blur. 

 

\--

Honestly, after that, Liam’s entire _life_ is a bit of a blur. They wrapped up in London before he really processed that they started and then there was an album and an international tour and fans and—they’d seen this a bit on the X Factor, sure, but this is a new level of overwhelming and Liam feels like he feel asleep in Wolverhampton and woke up in someone else’s life. 

There’s barely time to breathe, much less time to summon his courage and pull Louis aside to have a conversation about this thing they do now, where they kiss each other senseless and fall into bed and lose more sleep than they can afford to mapping each other’s bodies with their tongues. So that’s how they end up most of the way through the first leg of their tour without ever having properly talked about why they’re doing this.

It’s worked out so far, though; Liam thinks that maybe he wasn’t wrong at all—sometimes just taking a deep breath and letting things sort themselves out isn’t so terrible after all. 

The others all know now—they probably always knew, honestly, but there’s no such thing as secrets on a tour bus, and Liam’s never been particularly keen on lying in the first place. So no one asks questions when Louis wraps his hand around Liam’s wrist and drags him off after a concert, and apart from Harry’s rude jokes about a free show, no one comments when they snog a bit in corners. 

But really, it’s all going just fine—okay, it would be nice to be able to hold hands more but there’s more reasons they’re not doing that than just never having talked about what exactly all the kissing and the fucking means—it’s all going just fine until it isn’t. 

 

\--

 

Standing in the dressing room, Zayn’s hand in his hair and Niall’s rubbing gently across his back, Liam honestly, genuinely believes, for what’s probably the first time in his life, that nothing is ever going to be okay again. He doesn’t even know when or where everything started going so horribly wrong. Maybe it was all wrong from the beginning, maybe Louis never really cared and Liam just misunderstood everything. 

The door slams again, and he knows that Harry’s gone after Louis. It stings a little, even if he’s not surprised, because when faced with a choice between Louis and just about any other person on the planet, Harry’s always going to choose Louis. And Louis would choose Harry and maybe that’s where everything went wrong. Maybe Louis wanted Harry and Harry was completely gone on Grimmy and Liam was there, a warm body for comfort. 

Liam swallows back the tears that are threatening to fall, because he’s not going to cry about something that never properly existed and he’s definitely not going to do it somewhere that Louis might see. 

Soon enough, Paul shows up to herd them back to the bus. It’s a night on the road (but a strangely unhurried one), which before would have meant semi-covert handjobs in the loo that’s barely big enough to fit them both, but tonight means that at least it’s easy for Liam to crawl into Zayn’s bunk after he’s given up on sleep entirely. 

Zayn doesn’t say anything, just pulls Liam into a hug and rubs between his shoulders until Liam finally feels his body start to relax. “Thanks,” he whispers into Zayn’s ear before they both drift off, Liam’s face pressed into Zayn’s shoulder and their legs tangled together. 

He still sleeps restlessly, keeps waking up and thinking he’s curled up with Louis and then having to consciously steady his breathing when he remembers it’s Zayn’s arm around him, Zayn’s skin he’s smelling with every breath. And then he remembers that Louis is angry with him, and he doesn’t really understand why at all, and he wants to cry all over again. Instead, he just snuggles a bit closer to Zayn every time and tries to force himself to think about other things.

The problem is he can’t think of anything happy to think about that doesn’t involve Louis somehow. They just finished a tour and it was incredible but Louis was there for all of it. Louis has been there for just about every incredible thing in Liam’s life for so long now that he can’t sort out memories that don’t involve him anymore. 

 

\--

 

They fly back to London the following morning, and the flight is the quietest Liam can remember since before the X Factor. Louis isn't pressed against his side, whispering not-very-quietly, giggling about everything around them and trying to watch Liam's TV even though he's got his own. He remembers thinking Louis talking to him nonstop was the most annoying thing in the world on the flight to Spain but now it’s gone he’s not entirely sure what to do with himself. 

Instead of being crowded somewhere in the middle of the group, Liam’s on the end of a row, between a window and Zayn, who’s sound asleep and probably will be for the entire flight. Niall’s sat in the middle of them, across the aisle from Zayn, and he’s whispering with Harry. Harry, for his part, is clearly more focused on his laptop than on Niall. 

Louis is turned so all Liam can see is the back of his head. He could be asleep, or playing with his mobile, or crying, and Liam would never know. 

Eventually, he manages to stop staring at the uninformative back of Louis’s head—he catches Harry watching him more than once—and doze off for a few hours. 

 

\--

 

He’d planned to spend a couple of days in London before heading to Wolverhampton because—well, because of Louis, honestly. And that’s all gone pretty spectacularly to shit, so now Liam’s stuck in his flat by himself, because Harry and Niall have gone home and Louis isn’t talking to him. 

They’re not fighting, not properly, because Liam hates it and Louis isn’t going out of his way to make things worse. 

But it’s close. 

Mostly they’re avoiding each other. Liam doesn’t know what happened, exactly, but he’s not so dumb as to think that Louis overhearing what he said to Zayn isn’t what started this off—except when he thinks about it, really thinks about it, Louis was strange after Harry said they were boyfriends. 

Not that it matters, because it’s all come to the same place: Liam, alone in his flat, with Louis not speaking to him—or maybe he’s not speaking to Louis. It’s not like either of them has really made an effort to talk to the other and Liam supposes that means he’s just as complicit, but he’s not the one who had a fit and changed everything. 

He’s just the one who changed everything by putting a name on his feelings.

When his mobile starts buzzing, he expects it to be Louis almost until he puts it to his ear and hears Zayn’s voice. 

“You're coming out with me tonight,” Zayn says, which is more or less the last thing Liam wanted to hear. When he doesn't answer for a moment, Zayn continues. “You can't just sit around at home being pathetic and heartbroken.”

“I'm not heartbroken,” Liam protests, but it's weak even to his ears. Zayn was there for everything, he knows exactly how much of a mess Liam is.

There’s silence on the line, and finally Liam breaks it by agreeing to go. Zayn will genuinely just wait him out, and Liam probably ought to leave his flat. Eventually. 

It’s not the same club they went to the first night he and Louis had—but anyway, clubs aren’t all that different. They’re all full of the same loud music, and people who look more or less the same, and they always smell of alcohol and smoke machines and sweat. It reminds him of Louis just being there, because he can’t help associating Louis with those things. He doesn’t even smoke but somehow Liam’s got used to the smell of his skin after a few drinks and once they’ve got properly sweaty, and it’s hard to be surrounded by people dancing against him without thinking of sex—and of course thinking of sex now always ends with him thinking of Louis. 

“Have a drink,” Zayn says, even though he’s known Liam long enough to know better. Liam shakes his head. “It really will help,” Zayn cajoles. 

After a while longer of bad dancing and drunk catcalls over the music, and trying desperately to think of anything but Louis, Liam caves. 

“Just one drink,” he yells into Zayn’s ear, hoping he can be heard over the pounding music. 

Zayn brings him some sort of mixed drink, Liam’s not in the mood to ask questions, and he downs it faster than he really ought to. He really does have just the one, but it’s strong and he never drinks and he realises belatedly he’s not actually eaten much today and, well, the end result is that everything starts to feel just a little tingly. 

It’s easier to smile, and bob his head to the music, and when a girl drops onto the sofa next to him, it’s easy to wrap his arm around her shoulders and let her curl into his side. She presses her face into his shoulder, and Liam strokes her arm softly. It doesn’t feel like she’s coming on to him, and he wouldn’t be interested even if she were—he’s never been the type for casual sex, and not just because he’s been completely gone on Louis since casual sex became a viable option¬. Liam rests his head against the top of hers and she hums a little. 

“You’re nice,” she says, the words barely comprehensible. She’s extremely drunk, he can tell by the slur of her words and the fluid slowness of her movements. If nothing else, keeping her here means nothing bad is going to happen. Liam’s heard _stories_ of things that happen to drunk girls in clubs. 

“Thanks,” he says. “What’s your name?”

“Amanda,” she murmurs, drowsy and pressing herself tighter against him. 

“I’m Liam,” he says. Amanda doesn’t answer. 

By the time Zayn finds him again, the tingly feeling has all but gone away, leaving Liam a little sleepy and too-warm with Amanda curled against his side. She’s not quite asleep, he doesn’t think, but it’s a near thing. He ought to get her some water …

“Liam,” Zayn says, and there’s something Liam can’t quite read in his voice. Apprehension, or worry, maybe. “Who’s this?”

Liam explains quickly, and the look in Zayn’s eyes changes, but Liam still can’t quite make it out. 

“How long has she been here?” Zayn continues. 

Liam shrugs, careful not to disturb Amanda. “A while?”

“Shit, Li, there are going to be pictures.”

Shrugging again would probably be rude, so Liam forces himself not to do it. “So? We didn’t do anything, she just came over and sat next to me.”

“Well you know that and I know that but—”

“But what, Zayn?” Liam asks, angrier than he means to be but—apparently it’s there, boiling under the surface. “It’s no one’s business whether I snuggle with a girl at a club except mine.”

Zayn doesn’t answer.

“Can you get her a glass of water?” Liam continues. It’s not the most tactful change of subject, but it’ll do in a pinch. Zayn does, because for all he plays at not giving a shit, he’s really as guilty of mothering them all as Liam and Louis are. They get Amanda to drink it, and by the time she’s stood up and stepped outside for a taxi, it’s really starting to hit Liam how tired he is. 

He’s not been sleeping as well as he’d like since they got home from the tour, tossing in his bed and having to force his thoughts away from Louis. Like how he ought to not be thinking about Louis right now, actually. 

The ride back to their flat is a haze of flashing lights and other flashing lights that might be cameras and Liam trying painfully hard to keep from thinking about how the last time he left a club like this, he and Louis ended up fucking against the wall of his flat and then again in his bed, and how Louis’s face always seemed to open and trusting and _loving_ —

Liam screws his face up until all he can see behind his eyelids are splotches of color and light, not Louis’s face, blissed-out and post-coital and looking at Liam like he’s everything that matters in the universe. 

 

\--

 

Liam oversleeps the following morning. He’d tossed and turned all night, which he’s starting to get used to, but he must have eventually passed out properly, because it’s mid-morning and his mobile is buzzing incessantly. 

Squinting at the screen, he tries to read through the text messages he’s already got but the new ones coming in are making it difficult. There’s a few from Charlotte—she’s probably telling him off for getting all cuddly with a strange girl, but it could be worse; generally, Charlotte likes him, and he’s hardly ever the one causing trouble anyway. The ones from Ruth are—not something he’s dealing with right now. 

Zayn was right, of course. There are pictures and he’s not the one people are used to seeing out at clubs draped all over a strange girl so it’s a right mess. 

There’s other messages, certainly some from Zayn and probably the others as well, asking if he’s all right—he appreciates knowing they’re there even if he’s not going to read them right now—but Liam’s eye is caught by the most recent one. It’s from Louis and it says _saw u had fun last nite_. Liam’s stomach feels like it’s going to turn inside out.

And that's it. Something inside Liam snaps and all the anger he probably should have been feeling since the moment Louis ran out of the dressing room hits him like a goods train. He's suddenly so angry he can't even see straight, gripping his mobile so tightly his hand hurts and his knuckles are white. It takes every ounce of willpower he has not to answer Louis's text with _its none of ur busines_ , which would be childish and not help anything and god, Liam wants to do it anyway.

He buries his face in the pillow and wishes he could ignore that he’s not Harry and this isn’t something people expect of him, and he’ll probably have to do _damage control_ or something horrid like that. He’s never the one who has to try and gracefully smooth over something he did that he doesn’t actually regret anyway—and he’s nowhere near as good as Louis at walking the line of apologising while making it clear he’s not actually sorry.

Liam presses his face into the pillow harder and decides to waste a solid half an hour hating everything. 

Of course, that doesn’t work out either. Someone’s knocking at his door, really beating at it. It’s loud and incessant and—probably important. It would be rude of him to not drag himself out of bed and go and see who it is. His bed’s too far from the door for whoever it is to hear him, even if he yells that he’s on his way as loud as he can, so he trudges toward the door and hopes it wasn’t anyone he’ll have to deal with. Liam’s stomach is still twisted in knots—Louis is angry with him, and that’s just—it’s not on.

By the time Liam reaches the door, he’s awake but fuming. Louis is the one who ran away, the one who stormed out of the dressing room, the one who wouldn’t meet Liam’s eyes after Harry called them boyfriends and well, they were basically boyfriends. Liam’s not crazy for thinking that—they cuddled and kissed and had sex and sometimes they went to films and stuff, that’s basically dating. 

“What?” Liam nearly growls when he opens the door and—well, at least the person standing there deserves it, because it’s Louis. 

“What the hell were you doing?” Louis asks him, his voice harsh and low. Liam has never wanted to hit anyone as much in his entire life as he does right now, because Louis is glaring at him, his eyes narrow and his jaw tense. 

“What the hell was _I_ doing?” Liam says, speaking before he’s really run the words by his brain. “I’m not the one who mucked this all up!”

Louis’s face goes completely blank—he’d been visibly angry before but now Liam can’t sort out his mood at all. It’s unsettling, to not have a read on Louis. His hands are clenched into fists, the knuckles going white, and his whole body is tense, nearly vibrating with contained—something.

“You,” Louis starts, but he struggles with the words for a moment. “You let that girl cuddle with you!”

He sounds so outraged and it doesn’t make any sense at all. Shouldn’t he be angry that Liam slept with her? Or that he thinks Liam did or whatever—the point is, it doesn’t make sense that what Louis’s angry about is Liam _cuddling_ some strange drunk girl at a club. 

“It’s not like I had sex with her!” Liam says, because he can’t think of anything else to say. Louis’s never got crazy like this about him falling asleep on Zayn or curling up with his head in Harry’s lap. 

“It’s—that’s not the point,” Louis yells. Which— _what_?

Liam just—stands there and stares at him. Louis’s not making the slightest bit of sense and he’s just staring back at Liam but something’s changed in his face. 

And then out of nowhere, he’s surging forward and kissing Liam so hard they nearly topple backward onto the floor. Liam’s struggling to keep up with the vehemence of Louis’s movements, the way he’s licking into Liam’s mouth and tugging his head down a little too hard. All Liam can do is flail his arms a little and try to understand what’s happening—Louis was yelling and now there’s kissing and he’s still so angry but he doesn’t really want the kissing to stop. He wants to push Louis against the wall and kiss him just as hard, bite at his tongue and his neck and—if nothing else, this is easier than trying to find words for it all. 

Louis pulls Liam down again, yanking at his hair and making him grimace into the kiss. Liam bites his lip hard in retaliation. He feels Louis say something against his mouth but he can’t make out the words, and they probably don’t matter—Louis hasn’t had much to say so it doesn’t seem fair he gets to start now. If it had been entirely up to Liam, they’d have sat down and talked about what in the name of god they were doing ages ago but he rolled with it and then Louis was an arse and now—he’s got his arms tight around Louis’s waist and is hauling him closer almost harshly. 

By the time Louis pulls away, Liam’s nearly lightheaded from lack of air and it takes him a moment to process all the reasons this is a terrible idea. 

“I,” he says, trying to catch his breath—always difficult with Louis’s hands in his hair, on his neck. He wants to understand why Louis ran, and he wants to spell out everything he felt standing in the dressing room that night in angry red bites across Louis’s skin and after that he wants to smooth them over with his tongue until Louis falls to pieces underneath him. He wants to yell at Louis and he wants to talk to him until even the strangest pieces of his mind make sense. 

Liam’s never wanted this before, never wanted to take someone apart and put them back together and know the deepest workings of their soul, but Louis is different. Louis’s always been different, breathtaking and overwhelming and someone who makes Liam want to be all the things he’s always been a little to nervous to be. 

The quiet’s been lingering too long, he can tell from the way Louis is staring at him. Liam’s got no idea what he was going to say when he started talking, much less what he could possibly say now, but Louis is watching him expectantly and Liam doesn’t want this to end with Louis storming out again. 

That’s probably the only thing he wants more than he wants to make Louis understand just how crazy this has made him. 

“You ran off,” Liam forces himself to say. The words sound off, like his voice isn’t quite working the way he wants it to, which honestly feels about right. There’s too much happening and Liam can’t sort out all the different things he thinks he might want, and Louis is still the most confusing person in the universe, all open enthusiasm and easy friendship but his emotions so closely guarded no one’s allowed to see them properly. 

Louis swallows hard; Liam can see his throat work as he does. “Sorry,” he says, but it’s all wrong. He’s deflated and passionless and this isn’t Louis at all, really. (The apology is still nice to hear, though.)

“Why?” Liam feels like he’s speaking to a shying animal, trying to coax it closer, and it’s so hard because there’s still this anger boiling in his stomach but—Louis looks so scared, like Liam has the power to tear him apart and leave him that way for everyone to see. It’s possible kissing Louis like he was actually trying to do that didn’t help. 

“Cuddling is what _we_ do,” Louis says. It’s not an answer, not to the question that Liam was asking at least but—it’s something. It’s Louis talking and Liam can feel himself unclenching a little bit. He’s wanted this since the first time Louis kissed him, even if he hasn’t wanted the way Louis looks terrified and angry all at the same time. 

“I cuddle with the lads all the time,” Liam says, because he has to say something and, well, it’s true. 

“They’re different,” Louis replies, petulant but—not wrong. They _are_ different. 

Louis has pulled back, now; he’s no longer pressed up against Liam, no longer close enough for kissing. It’s probably for the best, because it makes it a lot harder for Liam to actually just kiss him with all the thoughts he doesn’t know how to turn into words—too many churning emotions and the only comfort he has is Louis looking just as stricken. 

“It wasn’t like that,” Liam says, and somehow he means it. It wasn’t like cuddling is with Harry or Niall or Zayn, and it was miles—leaps and bounds—different from how it feels when Louis curls up under his arm or Liam tucks his face into the crook of Louis’s neck. 

He still feels like he ought to be yelling—the anger is still there but it’s difficult to summon into yelling, and, well, Liam hates being like that at the best of times, much less when Louis is standing in front of him looking like he thinks Liam might actually punch him.

Louis’d deserve it, is the thing, but—Liam would rather not punch him and still have the chance to wake up next to him again. 

“What happened on the last night of the tour?” Liam asks. That’s what this all comes down to—he did something or maybe it was what Harry said, but Louis’s been all wrong in the head since then and that’s what Liam needs to understand.

He watches closely, schooling his face into kindness, sympathy, acceptance and—Louis’s face turns back to the mask he’s been wearing so carefully since they got back.

“I can’t,” he says, choked, and nearly runs out of Liam’s flat. He’s gone before Liam even moves to stop him. 

 

\--

 

Harry’s not the person Liam would normally go to for help sorting out his life—among other things, Harry gives _terrible_ advice—but, well. Harry knows Louis better than anyone. He’s the best option for trying to make sense of Louis. If Harry can’t do it, no one will be able to. 

Liam knocks when he gets to Harry’s flat, because that’s how normal humans act, he’s pretty sure. Just because Harry acts like everyone’s house is his as well doesn’t mean that Liam should do the same. What if Harry’s—well, what if he’s _busy_?

“It’s unlocked,” Harry yells, because—Liam has no idea why, but he goes in and—

 _Oh god_. 

“The reason I knocked is so I wouldn’t have to see anything like this!” Liam shrieks, with a much higher pitch than he’s going to admit. 

Harry shrugs, looking supremely unconcerned. He’s only about half dressed, his shirt hanging off his shoulders and the button of his jeans undone. On the scale of Harry and nudity, it’s nothing too outrageous. That said, it looks a frightening amount like he’s got his hands down the back of Nick Grimshaw’s trousers. _Because Nick Grimshaw is also on the sofa and he isn’t wearing a shirt at all._

At least he seems as discomfited by all this as Liam is. 

“I’m going to leave,” Liam says, because he never ever ever wants to see Nick Grimshaw’s chest hair again if he can possibly help it. He’s got used to Harry being naked all the time but this is just beyond the pale. 

“No, no,” Harry says, removing his hands from Nick’s arse but pointedly neglecting to put any of his clothes back on. “I’m willing to sacrifice, you know”—here he waves a hand in Nick’s general direction, clearly meaning _sex_ —“to help you sort out your life.”

“What,” Liam says flatly. 

“I saw Louis come in last night. And then run into his room and not come out. I think he’s still there.” Nick looks scandalized by this discovery, reaching for his shirt and giving Harry a look that clearly says _I didn’t sign up to have sex where your flatmate might hear and/or walk in on us_. Liam feels a certain kinship with Nick right now. 

If nothing else, Nick’s lack of exhibitionist tendencies—or at least his having fewer of them than Harry—means that he convinces Harry they oughtn’t try and sort out Liam and Louis’s relationship while in the same flat as Louis. The three of them shuffle off to a restaurant, because Harry refuses to let Nick leave. Liam’s not entirely sure how he feels about that, but at least Nick looks pretty thrown by it as well. 

“I don’t know what good you think I’m going to be,” he says as they walk. 

“Well, you’re already doing better than Louis,” Harry points out. 

“Did you just say that you’re a better catch than Liam?” Nick asks. Liam bites back a giggle, and Harry moves to punch Nick in the arm. 

“Don’t be a twat, you know what I meant.” 

The look Nick gives Harry is so fond it makes Liam’s stomach hurt. He doesn’t say anything to either of them for the rest of the walk, because he’s trying not to think about the way that Louis would look at him sometimes, when he was totally relaxed and—well, Liam doesn’t want to make assumption about what Louis was feeling but he certainly looked like he cared a lot for Liam. Saying _love_ wouldn’t have felt out of place. 

He’s distracted briefly by the rush of the restaurant, sitting down and finding something he wants to eat, but as soon as they’ve ordered, Harry fixes him with a look about as serious as Liam’s ever seen on him. 

“I know Louis has been an arse,” he says. Liam kind of shrugs, because it’s true but it sounds so harsh when Harry puts it that way. “You’re allowed to be angry with him,” Harry adds. 

Liam knows that, he really truly does, but hearing Harry say it is kind of wonderful nonetheless. Harry smiles at him, more sincere than usual, and touches Liam’s hand across the table. “Do you want to talk about it at all?”

“There’s not much to say.” 

It’s a bit strange, talking about this with Nick there—especially since he’s not making eye contact—but Harry clearly trusts him and Liam’s got no reason not to. Besides, another few seconds into the heavy silence, Nick pulls his mobile out and starts tapping away at it. Liam’s more impressed than he ought to be that Harry actually befriended—be-more-than-friended?—someone with a working understanding of tact. 

“Yeah?” Harry prompts. 

“We never really talked about it,” Liam says. “We were never officially dating, so I guess that’s why Louis got strange when you called us boyfriends.”

He pauses as the waitress brings their tea over, setting small containers of milk and sugar on the table between them. Nick looks up from his mobile when Liam reaches for his third sugar and makes a horrified expression. “How—” he says, choked. 

Harry cuts him off with, “Don’t ask, no one understands it.” 

Nick still looks scandalized, but he focuses back on his mobile, so Liam finishes up with his tea and continues talking. “We didn’t talk at all after that until last night and—well, he told me he couldn’t tell me why he ran off and then he ran off again.”

“Oh,” Harry says. He looks sad, almost, which isn’t quite what Liam expected. 

“Do you know what happened?” Liam asks. He sounds more pained than he wishes he did, but hopefully he’s kept any edge of desperation from his voice. 

“Er,” Nick says, looking up from his mobile. 

Liam thinks Harry might have got whiplash from how fast he turns to stare at Nick. 

“Obviously I don’t know Louis as well as you two do,” Nick continues, looking slightly wry. Nick always looks slightly wry. “But I think I might know where he’s coming from.”

“Yeah?” Liam says, trying not to sound too hopeful. 

“If it were me, I’d have got properly terrified by someone calling me and the bloke I was hooking up with boyfriends before we’d talked about it.” 

Harry takes this opportunity to roll his eyes, and smack Nick lightly on the shoulder. “By the way, we’re dating,” he says. 

Nick gives him a theoretically withering look that comes off as mostly fond. 

“So what you’re saying is he needs a good kick up the arse.” 

“More or less,” Nick says, shrugging. 

Harry tilts his head, clearly considering. “Well, that is what it took for you.”

“Oi!”

Liam’s smiling now, which he can’t say he expected when Nick got dragged along. They’re kind of charming, though—not that he’s especially surprised, given what they’re like individually. But it’s nice to see. 

“Do you want to talk to Louis or should I?” he says to Harry. Honestly, Harry probably ought to do it, but Liam’s not sure how to say that without it sounding like he’s not _willing_ to talk to Louis and he is. It’ll just be a mess, an even bigger mess than things already are, probably. 

Harry doesn’t answer, instead turning to Nick and frowning a bit. “Should I just yell at him a bit, do you think?”

“S’ what Gells did to me, if that helps,” Nick says. 

“Remind me to thank her later.”

“Don’t do that!” Nick exclaims. “Then she’ll think it worked out and she’ll do it more often.”

“It _did_ work out, though,” Liam says, butting in. 

“That’s not the point.” Nick’s pout is pretty impressive; he’s been spending too much time around Harry. 

It is the point, of course, but Nick doesn’t seem to care much about that, and Liam doesn’t feel like pressing the matter. They’re both strange, Harry and Nick are, and they’re even stranger when they’re together. 

“I’ll go and talk to Louis,” Harry says to Liam, ignoring Nick’s face with far more aplomb that Liam expected him to manage. He moves like he’s going to kiss Nick, but pulls back sharply before he does it—it’s a painful reminder of the type of lives they have and all the things they’re not allowed to do, but Liam forces those thoughts away. Harry slips out of the restaurant quickly, leaving Nick and Liam making uncomfortable eye contact at each other across the table until Liam forces himself to ask how things are going for him. He has the niggling feeling that something important has happened to Nick recently, something other than finally getting to stick his tongue in Harry’s mouth. 

Nick looks uncomfortable as he babbles a little abut some guests he’s had on his show recently and finally he changes his tone completely, looks Liam in the eye, and says, “Look, mate, I know entirely too much about your love life now.”

“The feeling is entirely mutual,” Liam says, because the image of Harry’s hands down the back of Nick’s trousers is going to be seared onto his brain forever and he desperately wishes he could unsee it. 

Shaking his head, Nick says, “I’d apologize for Harry but—”

Liam finds himself laughing again. “No, I should have expected that. He’s never been especially private about … anything. Once he hit me in the face with his—you know.”

Nick actually sticks his fist in his mouth to stifle his laughter, and Liam feels like he’s won some sort of prize. It doesn’t make his stomach flop about the way Louis laughing does, but it’s still a lovely feeling. If nothing else, he’s just had a flash of understanding about why Harry whinged pathetically on their shoulders about how much he fancied Nick for so long. 

The silence that settles around them after that isn’t exactly comfortable, but it’s not entirely uncomfortable either. 

“I should go,” Nick says, waving a hand about vaguely. “Work and … stuff.”

“Right,” Liam says. “I’ll see you, then.”

 

\--

 

When he sees Louis next, it’s eerily like the morning he stormed into Liam’s flat, angry and resentful and endlessly confusing, because Liam’s woken up by someone knocking on his door and he stumbles over confused to find Louis standing in front of him.

Except for how it’s completely different. Liam’s anger has dulled to a kind of persistent queasy feeling, and Louis looks—cowed, maybe. And uncertain. He’s staring determinedly at the floor, barely meeting Liam’s eyes when Liam greets him, and he seems completely deflated. 

Somehow, Louis looking shaken and frightened and overwhelmed is even more worrying when Liam’s not half-blind with rage and working to keep himself from shoving Louis against a wall and kissing him till their mouths are bruised. It’s difficult to hold on to even the last traces of his anger—because Louis didn’t talk to him, because Louis ran off twice—and by the time he’s is sitting on the sofa, Liam’s not sure whether the nausea is from anger or worry. 

“Harry yelled at me a lot,” Louis says. He’s still not meeting Liam’s eyes, and he honestly looks a little green. 

“Do you want some tea?” Liam asks. Louis nods, a little shaky. Liam’s never seen him like this, not really—the other day hardly counts—and it’s unsettling. This is the Louis no one ever gets to see and he _is_ getting to and. It’s honestly more overwhelming than anything else. He feels like he’s been handed some enormous responsibility and he’s got no idea how to handle it properly so he’s making tea.

Which is really kind of ridiculous. 

But Louis thanks him sincerely when Liam hands him a steaming mug, curling his hands around it and taking a deep breath. 

“Are you all right?” Liam finds himself asking. He—how is he supposed to keep from doing it, when Louis is clutching his tea like it’s the only thing keeping the world from flying apart at the seams. 

“I’ll be fine,” Louis says, too fast and slightly wobbly. “I—we—we need to talk about things.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Liam says, working to keep his voice steady and comforting. But what if Louis is calling it off for good—what if Louis doesn’t care about him like that, was just having a bit of fun with a mate—what if he’s never going to get to kiss Louis again?

“I got scared.” Louis’s voice is tight, the way it goes when he’s worried he won’t do well enough on stage, the way he always sounded before the X Factor live shows. He’s still not meeting Liam’s eyes and—Liam’s got no idea what he was scared of, which is making him a bit mad with anxiety. 

Liam sips at his tea, not quite able to look up and meet Louis’s eyes—if Louis has even pulled his gaze away from the floor, which actually seems pretty unlikely. 

“I don’t,” Louis starts to say, but it trails off. His knee is shaking, moving the sofa along with it. It’s all too much, and Liam finds himself reaching out to rest a hand lightly against Louis’s knee, which stops vibrating like Louis’s just had four coffees. “I don’t—I didn’t want to risk everything going completely wrong.”

There’s a lingering silence, during which Liam tries to sort out a response, because he understands in a way he’s not sure he can ever articulate, but Louis starts talking again before he has a chance to try. “And— _you_. You’re so wonderful and, fuck, you’re just so Liam and—”

Louis takes a deep breath, and Liam can just make out the way he’s trying to keep his hands from shaking as he reaches for his tea, taking a long sip. “I don’t want you to wake up some morning and realize you can do better than me, is all.”

Liam thinks he might have actually just been punched in stomach. It’s happened to him once or twice and it feels a lot like this—he’s struggling to breathe and he’s got a bit queasy again. 

“ _Louis_ ,” he says, because there’s no way to put into proper sentences how absurd that is, and besides, he doesn’t want to make Louis think he’s wrong for being afraid. Well, he _is_ wrong for being worried about that but Liam mostly wants him to stay until he’s sure it won’t ever happen, until Liam has convinced him it won’t ever happen. 

He wishes with a type of desperation he’s not felt since they were on the X Factor, a gut-wrenching need for things to work out because everything in his life from here on out depends on it, that he didn’t know why Louis thought that. He wishes that Louis were as confident and loud as he seems to be all the way through, that there wasn’t some hollow inside him filled up with memories of every time someone told him he wasn’t good enough. And he hates—more than he’s hated anything or anyone in his life, maybe—he hates that Louis doesn’t see all the ways his kindness and his determination and his overwhelming, mind-blowing ability to love make up for every time someone’s said he’s not perfect. 

Liam doesn’t want to be thinking about the far-too-many times someone has said that Louis needs to practice more or sing more quietly or do more or be more responsible, because Louis never lets himself crumble, even though he’s always a bit off afterward. 

He looks like he might crumble now and for all that Liam’s wished Louis didn’t hide himself away, he’s not sure he can bear to watch it happen, either.

“Say something,” Louis says, his voice properly shaking now. 

What comes out of Liam’s mouth is, “I love you.”

It’s not enough—it shouldn’t be enough. He’s told Louis he loves him before, they all throw I-love-yous around as easily as they exchange hugs or kisses on the cheek, but it’s also the only way he can think to put everything running through his head into few enough words to make sense. 

Louis finally looks up at him, white instead of green now, and Liam starts babbling like a madman before he even thinks of trying to stop himself. 

“I love you,” he says again. “And properly, not like how I love the others. I want to kiss you and wake up with you and hold your hand and every ridiculous soppy thing. I’m completely mad about you.”

He watches as Louis squares his shoulders and actually meets his eyes. “I’m sorry I kept running off,” he says. “I started thinking about it, that I might want—those things with you as well and. Then I started thinking that you wouldn’t want them, or would stop as soon as you realized I’m _me_ and it was too much. I don’t think I could live with having you and then losing you.”

Liam swallows the urge to call him ridiculous. He’d gone along with it, the thing Louis did where he didn’t talk about his feelings, didn’t let whatever they’d had be defined. 

“You don’t need to worry about that,” he says kindly instead. “Would if help if I promised to stick around until you’re completely bored of me and all my sensible habits?”

Louis’s grin when he says, “I’ll just corrupt you more,” is a bit halfhearted but the words ring true, and Liam’s chest might actually explode from how happy it makes him. 

Liam kisses him. 

It’s soft, just his lips light against Louis’s, and he waits until Louis leans into it slightly before he starts kissing in earnest, trying to pour a thousand things he’s never found the words for into his motions. Louis is still moving tentatively, nothing like the way he used to kiss Liam—full of passion and excitement and overwhelming enthusiasm. 

He breaks the kiss and whispers, “I’m not going anywhere,” against Louis’s lips. 

“Even if you meet someone better?”

Liam just shrugs. “You can always make me laugh, what’s better than that?”

This time, it’s Louis who kisses him, and it’s more like what he’s used to. Louis’s mouth is hot and nearly frantic against his; Liam spends a long moment gentling him, running calming hands over Louis’s arms and kissing him hard but slow, until he steadies, sliding his arms around Liam’s neck and letting himself be pulled to straddle his lap. 

Now they’re kissing the way Liam’s always wanted to kiss Louis—long, slow, comfortable motions, dragging it on forever, trailing their hands across each other slowly. He rests his hand against Louis’s stomach, edging under his shirt to feel the warmth of his skin. Louis still has his arms draped around Liam’s neck, fingers trailing the back of his neck, exploring his shoulders through his t-shirt. Somewhat reluctantly, Liam pulls his mouth away from Louis’s to explore the line of his jaw and the sensitive bits of skin around his ear, the ones he’s never had enough time to really appreciate properly. 

Louis keens softly when Liam sucks a lovebite just below his ear, so Liam does it again on the other side. As soon as he’s finished, Louis ducks his own head down to mouth at Liam’s neck, over his birthmark. It’s nothing like the hundreds of other lovebites Louis’s given him, mostly because this one doesn’t hurt, doesn’t make him want to pull away. He arches into it, making it easier for Louis to suck until Liam’s neck is pleasantly sore. 

He tugs Louis’s head back up, sealing their lips together again. 

Liam’s panting when he finally manages to stop kissing Louis. They’ve been here before, more or less, Louis’s knees on either side of his hips and mouths reddened from kissing but it’s different now and—Liam needs to check. It’s ridiculous, but then Louis tells him he’s ridiculous at least three times a week. 

“Do you want to—” he starts, trailing off because it’s still a bit odd to say, and he’s honestly not sure where this is going anyway. _Fuck_ isn’t right, but _make love_ is a bit too cheesy and maybe presumptuous as well, he doesn’t know what Louis feels for him exactly, doesn’t want to make things horrible again. And maybe they’re not going to do that at all, maybe—

“God yes,” Louis says, his voice pitched just a bit lower than it was the last time he spoke. 

“Good.” He kisses Louis again, quickly, and then pushes him, gentle but hard enough he’ll get the idea and stand up. 

Before they make it ten steps toward Liam’s bedroom, Louis curls a hand around the back of Liam’s neck and tugs him down into a messy kiss, his tongue sweeping across Liam’s teeth and their mouths moving uncoordinatedly against each other. Liam thinks he hears him say, “I’ve missed getting to kiss you,” and maybe it never happened but his heart feels too big for his chest anyway. He breaks away and herds Louis toward his bedroom, because they’ve had sex in the corridor before and this time should be different. 

They’ve not done this much in either of their actual flats, but there’s something especially intimate about pulling Louis into a tender kiss while standing next to his own bed, working a hand under Louis’s shirt and letting his fingers ghost across Louis’s skin in this space he knows so well. He tugs Louis’s shirt off, even though it means breaking the kiss, and presses him softly toward the bed. Louis goes willingly, unusually pliant, pulling Liam down with him and kissing him hard and slow. 

Liam lets himself be kissed, but when Louis stops to catch his breath, he moves to trail kisses across his abdomen, scraping his teeth lightly over Louis’s nipples and exploring the curves of his stomach with his tongue. Louis hisses out his name, fingers tangling into the hair at Liam’s nape, pulling him back up for another kiss. 

This time, Liam goes with the infinite feeling of it, Louis’s mouth moving unhurried and incautious against his. His tongue moves against Liam’s, his hands explore the bumps of Liam’s spine; it feels like he’s everywhere and Liam wants to save the sensation to return to for every moment of the rest of his life. When Louis presses his hands into Liam’s arse, he groans low and grinds into him slightly. 

Louis is hard, which doesn’t surprise Liam, especially since he is as well, but he doesn’t feel particularly frantic about anything. He’d quite like to take his time kissing Louis, getting to touch him all over again. 

But Louis seems to have something else in mind, because he’s pushing at Liam’s hips now, clearly aiming to flip them over. Liam lets himself get flipped, smiles involuntarily at the feeling of Louis perched over his thighs, pressing him into the mattress. And then Louis is climbing off him, which causes Liam to whine louder than he’s quite willing to admit yet, and undoing Liam’s trousers. He pulls them down - Liam helping by arching his hips off the bed but not doing much else - but leaves his own. 

“I,” Louis says, his voice gone a bit rough. He’s biting his lip, looking a bit uncertain, but in a wholly different way than earlier. “Can I, er—”

“Whatever you like,” Liam says, and he really does mean it. “As long as there aren’t any farm animals.”

Louis laughs, just a bit, and Liam goes a bit tingly all over the way he always does when he can make Louis laugh, only this time it’s even better because Louis is looking at him like Liam’s the greatest thing he’s ever seen. 

“Flip over, yeah?” he says, and of course Liam does. Louis tugs his shirt off, kisses down his spine until his mouth is hovering just at the top of Liam’s arse, where he bites down softly. One of his fingers is trailing up and down Liam’s crack, pressing softly—teasing, really—until Liam lets his hips push up into it. 

He can’t see what’s happening, just buries his face in the crook of his arm and lets Louis slip a pillow under his hips. Liam not really sure what to expect, this isn’t anything he’s got loads of practice with outside what he’s done with Louis already, so it comes as a bit of surprise when he feels Louis pull his cheeks apart and press a sloppy kiss to the place where they come together, the bit that’s almost his back. 

He’s might have said “oh” out loud, he’s not properly sure because it’s hard to focus on things that aren’t Louis’s hands and mouth and— _fuck_ , he’s kissing his way down now, and this is nothing Liam’s ever done or thought about or _anything_ but it’s kind of incredible already. 

When Louis licks across his hole for the first time, Liam definitely swears out loud, and Louis hums approvingly—he can feel the vibrations against, against his arse, making him shake a little bit.

“Is this all right?” Louis says, moving his head so that his chin is resting on Liam’s arse, kissing the skin there quickly. 

“Yes,” Liam manages to say, mostly proud of himself for not swearing. He’s less proud of how choked he sounds, but it’s too late to change that now. 

And then Louis’s mouth is back on him, his tongue working at Liam’s hole, his fingers holding Liam open, exploring bits of skin Liam doesn’t think anyone has ever touched before. His whole world has shrunk to baffled, mindless arousal—Louis’s tongue and fingers and breath and the way he hums when Liam shifts toward him. This is—he’d never thought—Liam can’t make his mind focus on anything beyond not rutting too hard against the pillow underneath him, because he wants to savor every second of this, maybe he wants to learn to reciprocate, recreate the complicated little flicks and twists of Louis’s tongue, the way he swirls it around Liam’s hole and reaches down to touch too-lightly at Liam’s balls and—

There was no possible way Liam could have stopped the high-pitched whine he makes when Louis’s stiffened tongue is suddenly _inside him_ , because that’s—he— _fuck_. 

“Fuck, Louis,” he says, causing Louis to hum happily again. Liam’s eyes are squeezed shut so tightly he’s seeing spots of light behind them and he can’t quite remember how breathing works, can’t think anything but incoherent sounds and Louis’s name in between them. There’s something that might be a finger next to Louis’s tongue now, or maybe that’s not it at all and he’s just gone completely mad and none of this is happening or maybe it’s all just Louis’s tongue, moving and—and—and fucking into him and Liam needs to come right this instant but he never wants this to stop and _Louis_. 

His mouth is open but he doesn’t think he’s making any noise and maybe he ought to be—telling Louis how fantastic this is, how he never wants it to stop, how much he loves him—but the words don’t come out as words, they leave his mouth as whimpers and choked, garbled versions of Louis’s name that just make Louis push his tongue in even harder, moving it more vigorously and humming again. 

Liam’s hips are jerking against the pillow irregularly, mostly because he can’t make his muscles work well enough to grind against it properly, but Louis doesn’t seem to mind. He’s still working at Liam with his mouth and it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to Liam, maybe, but he’s not sure it’ll be enough, not with how he can’t get his body to work well enough to rub off against the pillow as well and then Louis’s mouth is gone. Liam thinks he wants to die, he’s probably whining because he’s never needed anything like he needs Louis to go back to licking him out. 

The press of a cool, slick finger against his hole is unexpected—Liam’s lost all sense of time, when did Louis move enough to get lube—but Louis is easing it in, working into Liam slowly and once he’s got it in to the knuckle, he moves it, just bends it a bit and—

It feels like something breaks inside him, wracks his whole body until the spots behind his eyes turn to stars and he’s shaking through waves of hot and cold as he comes. 

When he manages to open his eyes, Louis is sitting next to him, still looking uncertain. But now his lips are red, his face messy, and he’s so hard it’s painful just to look at, his cock red and leaking against his stomach—and visible now, Liam’s not sure when he took his jeans and boxers off but he’s naked and. Well, if Liam could just make his limbs move he’d be touching right now. 

Taking a steadying breath, Liam manages to roll over and haul himself up so he’s sitting in front of Louis. His hand is still shaking when he reaches out to wrap it around Louis’s cock, loose at first.

In lieu of kissing—he’s not sure whether he should, not sure whether he’s allowed to want that—Liam presses his face in Louis’s neck and bites down. He tightens his grip on Louis, works his hand up and down and twists a bit at the top until Louis is shaking against him and coming, his face tucked into Liam’s neck. 

It’s not the most athletic sex they’ve ever had, and it’s also the middle of the morning, but all Liam wants to do is curl around Louis and sleep for the rest of the day. Well, most of the day. Actually he’d kind of like to sleep for a bit and then do it all over again, press Louis into the mattress and kiss him until neither of them can breathe. 

He lets himself flop onto his back, trying not to fall on top of Louis and mostly succeeding. They’re both properly a mess, Liam’s got come on his hand and his stomach and god, he came all over his own pillow, that’s vile, but Louis is squirming over to drape himself across Liam’s torso like some sort of freak cuddly octopus, too many limbs and pieces, too hot and heavy where he’s mostly on top of Liam, who wouldn’t move him for the world. 

Liam drops a kiss onto the crown of Louis’s head, because he’s got no reason not to, he wants to never not be kissing Louis. Louis pushes his head up just a bit and manages to place a soft, lingering kiss to the underside of Liam’s chin; Liam’s really glad he’s already lying down because that might have made him fall over otherwise. Not that he thinks he could have stood up to begin with. 

“We should probably clean off,” he says weakly. “And—get up. We have—”

Louis cuts him off by slapping pathetically at Liam’s chest. “We don’t have anything to do today. And I’m not standing up for at least another hour.”

God but it’s tempting. 

Louis is a horrible influence.

“You’re a horrible influence,” Liam says. 

Louis squirms happily, scrunching himself down so he can nip at Liam’s nipple, which is. Well. Liam’s never going to be able to think about Louis tweaking his nipples in public the same way again. He hisses softly, so naturally Louis does it again. 

“You love me, though,” Louis says when he’s stopped tormenting Liam. His voice is a bit off again, questioning. Insecure. It makes Liam’s heart twist. 

“Yeah,” he says, mostly into Louis’s hair. “I do.”

“Good.” Louis’s determinedly not looking now, the words muffled by Liam’s chest and the way Louis is barely articulating them at all. “Because I—I think I do too.”

That’s—not at all what he expected Louis to say, and it makes his heart feel all the wrong size. 

“I think that’s why I panicked,” Louis continues. “Because it’s fucking terrifying, yeah? You matter so much and what if I fucked it all up and lost you forever?”

Liam curls an arm around him, not entirely sure what to say. He’s scared of that too, that something might go spectacularly wrong with Louis—that something might go spectacularly wrong with Louis _again_ and they’ll never be able to fix it and the whole band will fall apart and—

“Not going to happen,” he says, trailing a lazy hand up Louis’s spine, tracing the bumps of it until Louis is nearly purring against him. The words roll across them and Liam can’t honestly say he thought them through but he does mean them, because he can’t think of something Louis would actually do that could break this permanently. “You’re stuck with me.”

“Oh,” Louis says. He mumbles something incomprehensible against Liam’s skin, the words breathy against his skin. 

Before Liam can catch himself, keep himself from saying something that’s completely inappropriate, he whispers, “Replay louder,” into Louis’s hair. 

“I love you,” Louis says, still so soft it’s barely audible. 

“I love you too.” There’s no way he can not respond, not with how shaken Louis has seemed by everything and how he’s gone from thinking he’s in love with Liam to saying the words outright in the space of minutes. 

“Replay,” Louis says. 

“I love you too,” Liam starts to say, but he’s cut off mid-word by Louis kissing him, messy and sweet. 

“Replay,” Louis says, his lips brushing over Liam’s as they move.

Liam does, letting the words get swallowed up by Louis’s kiss. He curls his fingers around Louis’s shoulders, holding him close and kissing him properly, his tongue moving slowly against Louis’s and only pulling away when he starts to feel a bit lightheaded. 

Moving still feels like a tremendous amount of work, and they can always just … doze for a bit and shower off later. Or doze for a bit, do some other things, and then shower off. 

“So,” Liam starts to say, unsure where exactly he’s going with it but not comfortable with the silence either. “Are we, er …”

“You can say boyfriends.” Louis smiles a bit thinly. “I think I’m all done making an arse of myself about that.”

“You’d better be,” Liam says, but he runs his fingers across Louis’s scalp to soften the words. “I rather like the idea of calling you my boyfriend.”

Louis’s answer to that is a sleepy hum; Liam sympathises. It’s been too long since he’s fallen asleep curled up with Louis, and this is the first time he’s known for sure that it’s allowed. Somehow, that changes everything, knowing that Louis wants to cuddle with him and wake up next to him and do it all again tomorrow. The queasy feeling in Liam’s stomach every time he wrapped his arms around Louis _before_ is all gone, replaced by something that makes him so deliriously happy he’s a bit worried he’ll start giggling into the silence. 

But Louis is drifting off to sleep, Liam can tell it from his breathing and the way his fingers have stilled where they were drawing lazy circles across Liam’s chest. Liam pulls him even closer, which ought to be impossible, and kisses the top of his head, hopefully while Louis is still awake enough to remember it.

(it stays more or less like this for a very long time)


End file.
